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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862617">Sometimes You're Born With It</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver_966/pseuds/Oliver_966'>Oliver_966</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotions, Eventual Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Apologies, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Mage Jaskier | Dandelion, Netflix Series Canon(ish) with Elements of the Games Mixed In, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, So many fandom tropes, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, is this too many tags?, oh well, yennefer is a queen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:26:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>48,896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver_966/pseuds/Oliver_966</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Once upon a time,” her voice is melodic, even when she is speaking plainly, and Julian yawned, feeling his troubles melt away. “There was a little boy. This boy looked like a normal boy and acted like one too, but he had a secret.</p><p>“This boy had the blood of a monster mixed in him, and this blood made him different. He could do impossible things with only a thought.”</p><p>“Like me!” he interrupted with a smile and his mother had given him a strained look. </p><p>“Yes. Just like you Julian.”<br/>_</p><p>Or, Jaskier isn't human, but he wishes he was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>640</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Do You Know Who You Are?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I'm late asf to The Witcher fandom, but I watched the show recently and am playing Witcher 3 and it just has my entire heart. So, of course, I had to write something for it. Be warned now: this is full of so many tropes taken seriously it's not even funny O_O</p><p>This fic is beta read by @imaginary.indigo &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier was five years old and he was still called Julian the first time he did it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d snuck away from his lessons again. He hated sitting still for long periods of time. He could never seem to focus, and his tutors frequently hit his hands with rulers and yelled at him as punishment for his inability to follow ‘simple’ directions. Harsh words had always seemed to echo through the halls of his father’s manor while Julian was in a lesson.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian was a boy with too much energy and was much better at sneaking away from the tutors than he was staying attentive for the entirety of the day. His childhood was spent finding as many possible ways to amuse himself while staying hidden from anyone who might have forced him to return to his duties.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On this particular occasion, he slipped into the small stables attached to the side of the house to visit a litter of kittens he’d discovered slightly over a week before.  They had warmed up to him quickly and Julian had been overjoyed when they’d let him pet them and even play with them until they had fallen asleep in his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been excited to see them again, and as he ducked into the stall where he found them hiding out he grinned. The kittens were more energetic than they had been a week ago, several pawing over to greet him as he settled down in the soft hay. Julian had greeted them back, allowing them to crawl up into his lap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something had seemed off though, and he found his smile slipping. He didn’t know how to put it into words, but the area felt wrong, so he peered at the hay pile where the kittens had been hiding and frowned. A brown kitten with white spots laid there, very still. Too still. His breath seemed to get caught in his throat as the feeling of wrongness grew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d reached out then, a small hand brushing against the fur of a kitten that didn’t react at all. No warmth radiated from the creature as it had with the other kittens, and Julian swallowed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt sick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He took the cat in his shaky hands, watery eyes staring down at the limp creature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other kittens, still moving in his lap, mewed and pawed at him, and he let out a shaky sob. He had never seen death before that moment. He’d learned what it meant to die sure. He'd been told that was why his favorite nanny stopped coming to look after him. He had never seen it with his own eyes though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Overwhelmed by just how much he hated it, hated the idea that a creature so young and full of life and potential, could suddenly turn into a cold, dead, empty thing. Where a single week ago there had been a kitten who had allowed Julian to pet it and hug it, there was now an empty shell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stroking the soft brown fur of the kitten, Julian gained a fierce look in his wet eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be dead.” the growl rumbled from his chest, an unfamiliar feeling coiling in his gut. He hadn’t known what it was then, but it both burned like fire and flowed as cool and calm as a stream within him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hummed a tune he’d never heard before. He let the strange feeling pour out through his hands and into the kitten. He hadn’t known what he was doing, but he’d known that he couldn’t stop. He didn’t stop, not until he was nearly too tired to hold himself up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite his exhaustion, a feeling of joy had washed over him when he’d cracked open his eyes, not even sure when he had shut them, and the kitten cradled in his arms purred and shifted in his hands. The kitten nuzzled its head in his hands and he’d pet it, all his previous distress fading away at the sight of the kitten alive and well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had set the kitten back in the hay and wiped the tears from his eyes. Then, as if nothing had happened at all, he went back to playing with the animals.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon he had found his fatigue resurfacing however, and with a yawn he had stumbled back inside, going to his mother’s chambers and curling up at the woman’s side, brushing off her chastisements about leaving his lessons with a small “Mum ‘m tired.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh?" the woman had furrowed a brow in concern, pressing a hand to Julian’s forehead. "You don’t have a fever…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had looked at him softly, and as if she was able to sense how truly exhausted he'd been feeling, she had wrapped him up in her warm, safe arms. She guided him to her bed and sang a soft lullaby as he drifted off to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had slept through nearly all of the next day. His mother had been worried sick and all the staff had been at a loss to explain why. He'd been fine physically, he had just gone into a deep sleep for hours and hours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he’d woken up and they all asked what had happened, he had no words. He hadn’t known how to explain the energy, the power, the burning, and the flowing. He’d doubted anyone would believe him if he told them about the kitten, dead one minute and playing the next. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he had just shrugged his shoulders and asked if he could go play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>_____</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After that first incident, it happened instinctively. When he knocked things over, he could catch them without actually touching them. When he broke a toy, he could simply mend it with a thought. When his tutors nearly caught him sneaking off, he made their eyes go right over him, as if he was invisible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For him, using magic was not something he needed to learn or be taught, but rather something that he just did. It came as easily and thoughtlessly as breathing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was too young to realize that was not normal. He hadn’t even known what he was doing was magic until, while on a walk around the estate with his mother, he picked a clump of grass from the ground and turned it into a vibrant bouquet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had meant it to be a gift. He cared deeply for his mother. She had sung him to sleep for as long as he could remember and was teaching him to play the harp. She always listened to him when he told stories of knights slaying dangerous and evil beasts. She had an enchanting garden, and her flowers decorated the insides of the palace. He had wanted to give her special flowers for the vase by her bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he thrust the bouquet into her hands, however, she had flinched back, wide and panicked eyes boring into him. “What’s wrong?” Julian had asked and his mother had taken a step back, the flowers falling from her weak grip. She just stared at him for a few moments before speaking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you do that?” she had hissed, reaching out to grab him by the wrists. Her grip is tight in a way Julian wasn’t used to. His father was meant to be the strict one. His mother was meant to be his comfort. His only friend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mother?” he’d asked and she’d shaken him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> do </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” her voice was harsh, angry, and pained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian hadn’t understood what she was asking. How did he do what? “I just-” he hesitated, trying to tug out of his mother’s rough grip “It’s easy? I don’t understand Mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She recoiled from him, and Julian, who’d  been tugging uselessly at her grip moments before, had fallen back, staring up at his mother in shock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are his.” she covered her mouth with her hands for a moment, looking off and taking shaky breaths. “You’re one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She hadn’t even looked at Julian as she’d said it, just staring off and mumbling to herself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had tilted his head “I’m whose? One of what? You’re confusing me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, his mother had snapped her attention back to him. “Never mind that. Julian you can never do that again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? Make flowers?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother clenches her fists, her gaze cold and angry, “No!- Yes! Magic! You can never do magic Julian! Not any of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Magic?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother had just stared at him in horror, “How can you not even know? What you just did! You did magic! You can’t change things or whatever else you’ve been doing with your mind! It’s not right!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her voice was shrill and Julian had furrowed his brows, swallowing thickly. He hadn’t understood, but his mother had stared at him expectantly, and her eyes had felt like they were burning through his skin and shriveling up his heart. He had been desperate for his mother to go back to loving him, and so he had nodded rapidly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry mother, I didn’t know. I promise I won’t do it again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother had stared at him for another moment and then nodded. They had walked back to the house in silence. When Julian tried to strike up a conversation, he was met with a stern look, and when he tried to reach up to hold his mother’s hand she snapped it away as if the simple idea of touching him was repulsive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, Julian had been afraid his mother would not come to sing to him. She had always come in to sing him to sleep and he was worried he would never hear her enchanting voice again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his mother had appeared in his doorway, as she had every nearly night for his whole life, relief had sunk in. However, it had been a short-lived feeling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother had settled at the end of his bed as she always had, but rather than sing him a song of love, and heroes, and dreams, she gave him a hard look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Julian,” she had begun, “I’m going to tell you a story tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had tilted his head at that but nodded regardless, not wanting to upset his mother like he had earlier in the day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Once upon a time,” her voice is melodic, even when she is speaking plainly, and Julian yawned, feeling his troubles melt away. “There was a little boy. This boy looked like a normal boy and acted like one too, but he had a secret.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This boy had the blood of a monster mixed in him, and this blood made him different. He could do impossible things with only a thought.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like me!” he interrupted with a smile and his mother had given him a strained look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you Julian.” she had huffed, but regained composure quickly, “So, this boy could do things that no one else could do. Even those humans who had powers like his were different, because their powers were not contaminated by the monstrous blood the boy had in him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because of this monstrous blood in him, the boy was very dangerous and his heart was evil. The boy was bad and he was a monster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The boy's mother told him he could not show off his abilities. The boy did not listen though, because he was so rotten. He ignored his kind mother’s wishes, and he used his demonic powers.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had pulled the covers up to him and mumbles “Mother I don’t like this story.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Too bad!” she snapped “This is the story you must hear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian’s lips had wobbled, but his mother had pressed on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now one day the boy went too far. He exposed his monstrous nature to everyone, and a monster hunter found out.” giving Julian a cruel smile she’d whispered “A Witcher.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Witchers hunt down any monster they can find, except their own kind. Witchers may be monster hunters, but they are no better themselves. They aren’t human. They feel no emotions at all, and all they care for is coin and slaying any monster they can. So when the Witcher finds out that the boy is a monster...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well what does a Witcher care if a monster looks like a boy. To a Witcher, a beast is a beast, so the Witcher hunts the boy down. The boy tries to run away. When he sees the Witcher’s come to get him he runs off and hides in the forest, but he is no match for a Witcher.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Witcher uses his mutated senses to find him and strikes him down with his swords, and the boy dies, slowly, and painfully. The boy dies because he is a bad child and he let himself behave like the monster that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No one mourns the boy’s death, because no one could love a beast like him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had stared at his mother as she finished the story, frozen in fear and shock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Julian. Do you know who that story is about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d hesitated, and mumbled “w-was it about me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Very good dear.” she had given him a soft smile that hadn’t reached her eyes “I want you to know I’m only telling you this to help you. Even if you are a horrible creature, I don’t want you to die.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had given him a strained smile and stood, gliding across the room and hovered above the candle lighting up his chambers. “Goodnight Julian.” she had then blown the candle out, leaving Julian in the dark room with nothing but his thoughts and his nightmares.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was just the start. From then on, his mother appeared in his room each and every night to tell him of all the ways he is terrible, and all the reasons he has given the Witchers to slay him. Her accounts of how the Witchers will kill him get more and more detailed as he grew older. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly learned that he was an unlovable creature. A beast with bad blood who couldn’t do anything right. He learned to be afraid of both himself and everyone around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also realized he was not his father’s child. If he was, he wouldn’t have the blood of a monster within him. It made sense, but Julian had been surprised nonetheless. He was almost glad to know though. It at least explained why his father had always viewed him so distantly. Why the stern man had always refused to even look at him for any reason other than to scream at him for all his failures, of which Julian seemed to have an endless supply of in the man's eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian couldn’t help but wonder why his mother hated his true father though. He wondered who his true father was. Or rather, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> his true father was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And what that made him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian was eight years old when he played the lute for the first time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been playing, pretending to be an explorer who discovered far away lands. It had always been one of his favorite games, and he loved to pretend he would be a real explorer when he grew up instead of a boring old viscount. Julian thought explorers were lucky. He was sure that they didn’t have to stay all cooped up in a boring old estate with no one to play with. They could go play with the other kids any time they wanted to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to see the world, not spend his days in the courts of Lettenhove, never straying far from the small village surrounding his family estate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been up in an old storage room, digging through all the old dusty relics of the past hidden within the room. It was mostly boring stuff. An old crib, some chairs, old paintings, boxes full of old linens and empty bottles. To Julian though, the room had been a treasure trove. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he had first found it, he had stood on a box and proudly proclaimed it to be his lands. He found games to play with all the old junk in the room. He pretended he was making discoveries that would astonish and amaze everyone. He fought with the drapes and furniture as if they were beasts never before seen by man. While digging around one day, he had found an old lute tucked away in the corner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had taken it in his hands and brushed the dust off. He didn’t know how to play yet- he hadn’t even had harp lessons in years. Those had stopped when his mother had stopped caring about him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d seen a lute before though. It’s the instrument the traveling bard had used to play music at one of the boring court dinners he was always being dragged to. He had been enchanted by the music then, and he was suddenly determined to learn how to play it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had carefully plucked at the strings of the instrument, soft sound echoing through the room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a grin he strummed again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt right in his hands, as if they were made to hold a lute. When he’d been learning to play the harp it had felt somewhat awkward, and he had struggled to pick it up even with his mother's tutelage, though he had loved the instrument. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the lute, he found himself comfortably strumming after a few hours.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually he had been called away from the room. He’d needed to get ready to attend another court dinner. He’d considered showing the lute to his mother and begging for lessons, but something had stopped him. A fear that his mother would see the lute as something bad, just like she had seen his magic as something bad. He liked the lute so he didn’t take it with him when he left the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he had hidden it away again, making sure it was firmly out of sight before he ran off to dress in his formal wear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He came back to the room to play the lute as often as he could. He was much too old to be running away from his lessons by that age. It wasn’t worth it when every time he tried he was brought before his mother and ‘father’ to be punished. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also had many responsibilities. He was meant to be learning how to take over the estate for his ‘father’ one day. He was bad at it, and he was sure he’d make for a terrible viscount. Some part of him thought it was because he was some sort of monster that he was so terrible at politics. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had done his best in his lessons though. He’d done anything that was asked of him, knowing that the chances of being able to sneak off to the room unnoticed were higher so long as he did what was expected of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he could get away, he experimented with the sounds the lute can make, what sounds go well together, and what pacing works with what sounds. He created his first songs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After learning about poetry in one of his lessons, he smuggled one of his school books to the room, along with ink and a quill. He began to write words to go with his music. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he sang, he could feel the magical energy he was always repressing trying to come forward. It threatened to pour out through his lute and bend the world around him. Julian could tell making music would allow him to use more powerful magic and he hated it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ignored the need to release the energy burning inside him and focused on the music he loved to create. He refused to use any magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to be some sort of freakish mage with an unknown monster’s blood flowing through him. He wanted to be a travelling bard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continued to go through the motions, pretending that he would take over for his ‘father’ when he grew older. Although, as he continued to teach himself to play the lute, he became more and more sure that he didn’t want to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wanted to leave his family's estate. He wanted to leave the harsh tutors, the cruel man who isn’t even his true father, his mother and her unsympathetic glares and cruel so called ‘stories.’ He wanted to leave the nightmares, and the fear of being cut down by a Witcher for being something he never even asked to be. He wanted to travel the world and play his songs for everyone. He needed to feel like he belonged somewhere and to go somewhere where no one would know that he wasn’t normal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had decided by the time he was nine that he would leave as soon as he was old enough to travel alone without raising too many prying questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>_________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian was pulled from sleep by a nightmare. This was not a new development. He was eleven now, and used to frequent nightmares.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had sat up, panicking and out of breath, exhausted from not having slept properly in days. Then he had caught a glance of a vaguely human shape across the room, and he had choked on a scream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a Witcher that’s come to kill me and </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>I don’t want to die</em>
  </b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had shut his eyes tight and reached out without even realizing it, using magic to bring forth the only thing that had brought him comfort since he had revealed himself to be a monster to his mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d wrapped his arms around the lute and taken in shaky breaths. He had felt as if he couldn’t breathe no matter how hard he tried and he sobbed. Was this how Witchers kill you? Can you be choked by someone who isn’t even touching you?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” he’d begged “Please don’t! I didn’t mean to be this way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had sat there, hugging his secret lute, frozen in terror for a long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he had gained the courage to finally open his eyes again, he lit the candle in the far corner of his room without moving an inch. He quickly scanned the room and let out a shaky sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no Witcher in the room, just a chair with a doublet hung across the back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had let out a choked, brittle laugh and held the lute even tighter to himself. He felt as if he was losing his mind and he was so tired. He’d used magic again for the first time in years, and it had felt so normal and easy. Guilt had swum inside him, but an anger had joined it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time he had begun to wonder why his magic was so bad. He’d met court mages before. They do magic and, yes, his family disliked them, but they aren’t treated like monsters. They are respected and no monster hunters go after them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had sat there and wondered what it was about his magic that made it so bad? He sat there until morning, strumming lightly on the lute and using his magic to make sure no one outside his room could hear it. He’d been tired, but he’d needed to think more than he’d needed to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d decided that night that if he’s going to be a monster either way, there’s no reason he shouldn’t use his magic, so long as no one sees it. If a Witcher came to kill him, so be it. Using his magic felt good, and it didn’t even hurt anyone so why shouldn’t he use it?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The next night, after his mother finished telling him about the ways Witchers would rip him apart if they learned what he was- nevermind that Julian himself had no idea what he was- he’d pulled his lute out from under his bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d strummed on it and begun to sing softly to himself, allowing magic to pour into the lute. He’d sung himself to sleep, blessing himself with sweet dreams as he had floated off into unconsciousness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the first night he’d had in ages where he truly slept soundly till morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had been on edge at first, sure that his mother would realize he’d been using magic again, but as the days had melted into weeks, and weeks to months, and months to years, she’d never seemed to realize. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he grew into a young man, his mother stopped coming to his room to frighten him with stories of Witchers, and his ‘father’ stopped punishing him for his poor performance during lessons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian never forgot his dream to leave and become a travelling bard. He was determined, hiding away any coin he could get his hands on to take with him, keeping his lute out of sight from any prying eyes, practicing late into the night, writing songs he hoped to one day sing to crowds of people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He learned to put on a flawless act, standing beside his cold family at court dinners, learned all the subtle details of local politics he is expected to care about. He was as educated as any other noble, perhaps more so because as he grew he gained a hunger for knowledge. Not boring things such as arithmetic and local grain politics. No, Julian loved all things romantic. All things real and raw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>History, literature, poetry, and the arts. Julian soaked up as much as he could, so long as the information had nothing to do with monsters. He could never quite shake the fear that one day he would read of some villainous creature and then become one himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remained conflicted over whether he was a monster or not. On one hand, he never felt like a monster. He did not wish to see anyone hurt. He simply wanted to bring his entertainment through the lands, where he could meet as many people as possible. He was sure monsters are meant to hurt people? Or why would they be called monsters at all?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was also aware that his mother had loved him at one point. He knew there was the blood of something inhuman within him. He’d found texts about the magic human mages wield, and he knew that his way of using magic was indeed different from theirs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He did not have to give anything up to use his magic. There was no give and take in the sense of a dying flower allowing a rock to be lifted, there was a simple change. He took the energy swirling both inside and around him, something that he doubted he could accurately describe as simply ‘chaos’, and he used it to bend the world around him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He used it to change grass to flowers, to bring his lute from one location to another, to keep the sound of music from reaching the ears of those he does not wish for it to reach, and he used it to bring dead kittens back to life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that bringing a creature fully back to life- not as some twisted version of itself- but fully back to life, should not be possible… and yet he had done it with ease at a very young age, the only consequence being the need for a very long nap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had let the conflict over his nature brew within him for all his youth, not allowing it to affect his actions. He had already decided to live his life how he pleases, and if a Witcher will kill him for it, so be it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Julian turned 16 though, things changed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was spring, and he’d planned to leave in a year's time. Winter had faded and the weather had been good for planting crops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, a frost came, far too late into the season for anyone to have seen it coming. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It killed crops. Too many, and Julian had watched with growing unease as the spring continued. and it became clear that there would not be enough food to feed the local villagers. It was late in the season, and the new crops that the people tried to plant refused to properly take. Too many plants had died when the frost had come and there was no way there would be enough food come winter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian had sat, listening as his father spoke over dinner with locals. The neighboring villages had been less affected by the frost than theirs, but enough so that there was nothing to spare. There would be no aid. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The estimates of deaths were high. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian knew people who lived in the village. All his childhood tutors and nannies, the kitchen staff who had allowed him to smuggle treats from the kitchen during his youth, local boys he had snuck off to play with on a few occasions…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After hearing the discussions outlining just how many people would likely die if nothing changed, Julian had stared out of his bedroom window, his gaze hard. He had decided he had to make a choice... if one could even call it that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed like an obvious decision to him. What could he do? Watch his people starve when he knew he could prevent it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night he had held his lute close to him and muttered “If a Witcher kills me, so be it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been his mantra for years, but this is different. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before, it was him doing small things, like lighting a candle in his room late at night. This… the scale of what he was planning to do was not lost on him, but he knew he had to try. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to die, but he wanted to watch the people of his village die even less. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d spent the night working out how he would go about doing it. He needed the timing to be perfect and he needed a good location so he could see what he was doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day, he’d stayed cooped up in his room, focusing on the energy in the air and bringing the swirls of power inside him to the forefront. When the sun reached its peak in the sky, Julian strode through the halls of his childhood home with conviction, lute strapped to his back. He pulled open the doors to the balcony overlooking the village below open and stepped outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d knelt down, putting his hands onto the cold stone floor, and he’d stared at the fields of crops running through the land below him. He’d inhaled, and exhaled, allowing life to flow from his fingertips with his exhale. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gingerly taking his lute in his hands, he started to strum. He sang a song in a language he did not know, and yet the words came easily and made sense. It wasn’t in common tongue, and he was not sure where the song came from, yet he knew it easily. It felt familiar, as if it was a song he’d heard every day for all his life.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music was mixed with magic, and as if the song was a physical entity, he guided it down the walls of his home, into the dirt, and towards the fields. He poured life into the earth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every plant for miles perked up, even those which had previously been rotting twisted to face the sun and soaked up the energy it gave off. Julian gave warmth, he gave life. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>glowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he felt connected to everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was just like it had when he’d brought that small kitten back from the dead in a way, but it was also nothing like that at all because he could feel everything, every blade of grass and plant and animal, for miles. His reach extended further than he thought he was capable of reaching. Further than he thought he </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be capable of reaching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stayed there, kneeling and playing his song, for what felt like years, but also just seconds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every plant was alive, and Julian was exhausted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he finally released his hold on the magic, allowing his energy to come back, settle within himself, he thought he may faint. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was no time for that though, and he turned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother and ‘father’ stood there, staring at him. The staff were there as well, shock on their faces. He stared back and gave them a hesitant smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ‘father’, as if broken from a trance, rounded on the staff. “Go! We need privacy!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They skittered away, flinching back at his rage-filled tone. Julian had flinched back as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment they were alone, the man that was not his father turned to his mother. “I knew he wasn’t mine! You decided to cheat on me with a fucking freak?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His ‘father’ grabed his mother’s arm, and she tried to pull away uselessly, cries of denial on her lips. Julian had known just by looking at the grip that it would bruise. “Father!” he’d shouted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother may not have loved him for years, but he still loved her. He tried to pry his ‘father’ away from his mother, but he just growled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that! You know good and well you aren’t mine!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t-” his mother is sobbing “I didn’t! Please! It’s not my fault he’s this way! I didn’t do it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man threw his mother to the ground and Julian moved to stand in front of her and shield her from his ‘father’. The man took the bait and growled “You just don’t know when to quit do you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian grit his teeth and said nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man who he’s glad is not his father sneered at him and continued “I’ve always known you weren’t my fucking kid, but I had no idea she went a got off with some- god fuck if I even know what you are. Not a human though, that’s for damn sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian just stood in silence. He couldn’t have cared less what this man said to him, but he needed to protect his mother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This did nothing but further piss off the man who turned around and kicked a table hard, growling in frustration “Thank fuck you aren’t my kid though. Even without those freakish powers, you’d be a disappointment.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Julian still didn’t respond and the man finally rounded on him, grabbing a vase from the tabletop and throwing it at Julian, who flinched slightly as the glass exploded at his feet. His mother sobbed behind him and he glared at his not-father. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve seen what I can do just now- I don’t think you want to mess with me father- though I suppose I shouldn’t call you that now, should I?” he leaves off a biting remark about how that’s not much different from usual, because even if he’d shared blood with that man, he never would’ve been his father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man sputtered and started to speak. Julian settled his hands on his lute and gave the man a look and his ‘father’ seethed, but ultimately left the room without too much trouble. Julian was glad because he’s not much of a fighter, and that man had raised him, however poorly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wasting no time Julian turned and dropped down in front of his mother, who had scooted back against the wall during his confrontation with her husband. She was curled up and is holding her wrist in her hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Mother, are you alright,” he went to check on the injuries, his fingers buzzing with the need to heal it, but she flinched back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared at her in confusion, “Mother please, let me-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cut him off with a sob “I don’t want your- your demonic magic! It came from a monster and everything it touches will be ruined... It ruined you and it ruined my life” she heaved out another sob and in a small, shaky voice, adds “Just stay away from me Julian. Stay the hell away from me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But- you already knew I could do this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did, and I tried to fix you but I failed.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother refused to look at him, and Julian’s arguments fell away. He stood weakly, and nodded. “Alright. Goodbye then mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She didn’t respond and he had clenched his fists, taken a deep breath and turned away. He quickly stopped in his room, slung his already prepared bag around his shoulders, and set off away from the estate, clutching his lute like a lifeline. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt too easy. Yes, he was tired from the extensive magic he performed, to the point where every step he took felt as if it weighed a million pounds, and the second he got away from this village he planned to make camp and sleep for… ages, but it felt so easy. He’d never left his village alone and all it took to be free was to walk away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He made his way through the village, ignoring the confused stares the locals give him as he makes the trek to the main road. He heard them talking of a curse that cured their crops and scoffed. A curse? That’s what they call his help?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t regret his decision even for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Especially when it allowed him to leave all the sooner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And as Julian finally stepped out onto the main road, ready to travel the continent, he only looked back at his childhood home for a moment. He promised himself then and there that he would never return.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Keep on Going</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier attempts to become a traveling bard and winds up going to Oxenfurt.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay so, still no Geralt U _ U<br/>Don't hate me too much, he comes in next chapter :) Which is mostly finished at this point, I just need to finish the last round of revisions and then my wonderful beta reader will need time to fix my nonsense.<br/>So yeah, I hope you enjoy this :) It's a pretty long chapter soo</p><p>Credits to the song "Come Little Children" by Erutan. I used a brief excerpt from the song :) Poetry/lyrics of any kind are not something I can write at all, so don't expect any original poetry or anything like that :| </p><p>This fic is beta read by @imaginary.indigo &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Julian walks into an inn and sets a handful of coins down, giving the innkeeper a friendly smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes him in with a raised brow, and he figures he must be a sight right now. He’s been on the road for a little over a week now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After leaving home, he’d made camp almost immediately, meaning he’d promptly thrown himself behind a bush and fallen asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he’d woken back up he’d meandered down the path he’d set out on, unsure how far he was from any sort of town. He hadn’t been in any rush, wanting to enjoy the feeling of being free for the first time in his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d spent his days traveling with a skip in his step and a song on his lips. When he was hungry he willed the trees to give him apples and when he was tired he ducked off the path and slept. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The grass was soft beneath him every night and he did not need to worry about being attacked because his magic protected him from the sight of any predators or bandits that may have harmed him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could stop whenever he pleased to soak in the beauty the world has to offer. One field of buttercups, in particular, captured his attention so fully that he’d stopped for a full afternoon to compose a song about their beauty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any time negative thoughts tried to, oh so impolitely intrude on his good time, he brushed them aside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So what if he’s a monster and his family hates him and he can never go home and sometimes at night he looks out at the sky and he feels so small and so young. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s fine. He’s fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So yes, Julian enjoyed his travels and was doing well for himself, but sleeping out in the elements when one doesn’t own a hairbrush can lead to a slightly off-putting appearance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this enough for a room?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The innkeeper takes the money and hums her assent. “Should be.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She glances at the lute strapped to Julian’s chest. “You a bard?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He claps his hands in delight, “Yes! Thank you for noticing dear. I’m-” he hesitates. Julian Alfred Pankratz is hardly an inconspicuous name. It’s very clearly a noble name so there’s no way he can call himself that. Besides, he’s a new man now. He wants nothing to do with that old life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Innkeeper gives him an expectant look, pushing a bit of gray and brown hair out of her face. He smiles again, the cogs in his mind turning rapidly. A new name… One that’s interesting, but won’t draw the kind of attention Julian would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks of the buttercup field he’d seen on his way into town. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Jaskier, a traveling bard.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never heard of you.” she huffs and he blinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well yes, that would be because” he gives an awkward laugh that is more an exhale of air than a laugh “I have yet to actual grace anyone with my music yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman scoffs and pushes his key over to him, a clear dismissal. He hurries to continue, turning the mental dial-up on the charm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But! If you would be so kind as to allow me to grace your tavern with my first ever performance, I will ask nothing in return.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks at him curiously, but he can tell she’s still not convinced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I will give you 10% of the tips I make!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you make any at all…” the innkeeper snorts, but when she looks at Jaskier’s hopeful expression she softens slightly. “Alright kid. People could use a bit of cheering up around here anyways.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He beams and takes his room key with a little spin, “Fantastic! Thank you milady, you are truly a beauty inside and out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he receives for that is a snicker and the innkeeper turns away to busy herself with other business. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t care. He’s going to play tonight! For a real audience. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He goes up to his room to wait until the evening. It’s a small room, barely enough room for the bed it houses, but there’s a window, and Jaskier sets his satchel down, crawling across the bed to sit in front of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He warms up all afternoon, excitement buzzing all around him. He has to remind himself to keep his magic where it belongs. Sometimes when he gets too happy, the energy within him gets excited and makes it more eager to come forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t need any magic now though. He’s here to entertain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is going to be great.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not great. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands in front of a crowd of drinking men, and nerves bubble up out of nowhere. The tavern isn’t exactly busy, but the men who are here are intimidating and Jaskier is suddenly struck by just how little experience he has. These men are travelers, merchants, and farmers and Jaskier doesn’t know what they will like. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fumbles around for a bit, trying to come up with what song to play, and eventually just goes with the most recent one he’s written about the buttercup field. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not exactly a hit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bard, what the fuck are you singing about flowers for? Just do the Fishmonger’s Daughter or somethin’!” one particularly gruff man calls out, met with a round of agreements.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The what?” he asks, and everyone looks over at him. The Innkeeper stares at him sharply, her brows drawn up in disbelief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What kind of bard doesn’t know the most popular song on the continent?” one man cackles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, at least he’s succeeded in getting a laugh out of these men. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands there for a while, not sure what to do with himself before hesitantly asking “Uhh, does someone want to give me the lyrics? If they did I could certainly-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Innkeeper puts a hand on his shoulder and drags him aside with a yelp. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said you were a bard, kid?” she hisses when they’re a bit separated from the patrons in the tavern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am!” he yelps in defense and then hesitates “Well I may have mentioned I’ve never performed right? I think I said that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She rubs a hand over her face and murmurs “Melitele help me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She then fixes him with a look. “Kid, you’re young, so I won’t be too harsh on you. You’ve got a good voice, too, from what I heard, but people don’t want whatever that was. People want the classics, and if you’re a bard who doesn’t know them, you’re hardly a bard at all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He puffs up, “Well! But- Well, I wrote songs!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head “That kind of song is great for charming lovers, not getting tips in a tavern. People like exciting songs. Ballads about adventures or things that are catchy or make them laugh.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls a face. He hasn’t exactly got many adventures he can sing about and he doesn’t know any of the ‘classics.’ He’s only even heard bards perform a scattering of times and he’d always been forced to focus his attention on matters other than music theory. Court events were for small talk and business after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrugs “You don’t have to like it, but if you’re gonna be a bard, that’s how it’s gonna be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A moment passes and she continues, “You seem young; not much older than my old son. I don’t know what you’re doing out on the road like this, but you’ve gotta be careful.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nods hesitantly, not sure how to respond. Her words are harsh but her tone is soft and he can hear the truth in what she’s saying. He stands there for a few moments, fidgeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind is racing. He doesn’t know anything about being a bard, which means he has no applicable skills and nowhere to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you a meal.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks. A meal does sound good. He reaches into his pockets and frowns, “I left my money up in my room. I can go and get it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, “Consider it on the house. Once you figure the whole bard thing out, come back here and play for my tavern free of charge though, alright. You owe me a performance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course… Can I get your name?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Martha.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The meal she gives him isn’t anything special. It’s just soup, a bit of stale bread, and water. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it’s the first warm meal he’s had in over a week and as he sits in the corner of the tavern eating, already forgotten by the drunken men surrounding him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he sips his soup, a feeling of sudden grief overwhelms him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hits him that he’ll never eat with his family again, and yes, they didn’t love him, but he loved them. He’d always had a faint hope, hidden away in the corners of his heart, that his family would love him back one day. Sure it had always been unlikely, but it’s impossible now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can never go home and he’s not even a good bard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wipes at his eyes and mutters a quiet “fuck.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is the beginning of a long string of failures when it comes to his career. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s stubborn and refuses to give up, even when his coin runs dry and he’s forced to sleep in the forest for weeks on end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts taking little odd jobs in the villages he’s in, just to be able to afford supplies. He always performs when there’s a tavern in town that will let him, but tips are meager at best, and people are cruel at worst. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picks up some of the more well-known songs through his travels. When another bard is in a town, he hides away in the shadows and takes notes on their more popular music. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Fishmonger’s Daughter becomes very familiar to him over the months he spends on the road, though he always seems to butcher it ever so slightly when he tries to play it and it frustrates him to no end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s missing something. He struggles to find the right chords to play for songs when he tries to play them from memory, and the slightest mistakes can have drunken men booing you off the stage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not unskilled by any stretch, especially considering he’s fully self-taught, but he knows he does certain things wrong and he’s not sure how to correct himself when he doesn’t know exactly where his mistakes lie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So when he overhears a rumor that an extremely famous bard would be performing in a town nearby one afternoon, he rushes in that direction. He’s desperate to find something that will help him improve, and he hopes that he’ll hear something from this man that will do that for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s how he finds himself sitting at a table near a small stage in a dingy tavern in a moderately sized city. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard is warming up, and Jaskier watches him closely. Around him are men, several of whom are already completely sloshed, yelling, and laughing loudly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is completely focused though, ready to take note of anything in particular that stands out to him about this bard. He’s not here to enjoy himself, he’s here to learn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard begins with a relatively well-known ballad. Jaskier has heard it a few times before but his attempts to recreate it had been lackluster at best so he’d given up on that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This man does it true justice though. The ease with which he creates some of the most complex and beautiful sounds with his lute while singing richly, and adding bits of flair to his performance has Jaskier in complete awe. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This awe grows throughout the bard’s performance. It’s like watching a god play. The bard never gets tripped up throughout the entire performance and his voice sucks Jaskier in. By the time the man is bowing and cheerfully wishing the patrons of the tavern good night, Jaskier practically worships him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This bard has a grace Jaskier longs to be able to replicate. His songs sound sincere where Jaskier’s can often come across as someone stilted. There is passion in his playing and his singing and it’s beautiful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard begins to head off, most likely to his rooms in the inn, but Jaskier scrambles after him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir-!” he calls out and the bard turns around with a raised brow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the kid who was staring me down all night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier flushes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sorry, it’s just because you’re amazing.” he admits “Your playing is like a flower in the wind on a warm summer’s day! It’s-It’s the warmth of a fire when one comes inside from the cold! It’s-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard interrupts, clearly amused by his overly flowery words “I see I’ve made the acquaintance of another poet then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods eagerly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes! Your performance was amazing. I just wanted to ask you a few questions if that would be alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard nods and Jaskier continues, “Well, I’m trying my best to capture my audience’s attention, but I’m just lacking something. I can play fine, but it’s not as passionate as when you play. I guess what I’m trying to ask is, how did you get so good at it all?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard hums, “A loaded question… I had tutoring in music and the arts from a young age, but I suppose the main turning point in my skills would have to be Oxenfurt.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks and the bard nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think the best thing you can do for yourself as a young bard would be to attend school there. Whatever your fullest potential is, that’s where you’re most likely to reach it.” he snorts “They sure dragged it out of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, “Alright then, thank you for your time!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard nods and bids him goodnight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier heads to his room and sits on the bed, holding his lute gingerly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs through the conversation he’d had with the bard in his head over and over again until he’s properly embarrassed by how strongly he’d come across. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Still, he did learn something valuable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oxenfurt huh…” </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gets in with a combination of skill, charm, and bartering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oxenfurt isn’t exactly a cheap school to attend, and Jaskier has essentially no coin to his name. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he performed for the admissions board they were impressed, especially after learning that he was fully self-taught. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were firm in the fact that the tuition must be paid though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He begged them to allow him to work for his attendance and they eventually caved. Jaskier was allowed entrance into Oxenfurt as a student and member of the janitorial staff.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The days are long and the work is grueling on top of his heavy class load. He’s determined to take full advantage of his opportunities here and so he sets out to study all seven of the liberal arts, with a specific focus in music. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s exhausted at the end of each day but it’s worth it. Oxenfurt quickly becomes the only real home he’s ever known. He fits in perfectly, nobody suspects his freakish nature, and his musical skills are improving rapidly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have much time to socialize on top of everything else, but he finds himself having friends for the first time in his life. Most of his classmates enjoy talking to him and he embraces this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back in Lettenhove, he was rarely able to sneak off to spend time with the local boys, and when he managed to get away from his family to play, those children had been somewhat afraid of him. The noble children he met at the stiff events he was often dragged to were even worse. They were stuffy and rude and Jaskier had found them all infuriating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s nice to have peers who view him as an equal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On top of this, most of his professors love him. Especially in his music-focused classes. He’s a fast learner and the passion with which he throws himself upon every little scrap of musical theory or scale thrown his way endears him to them. He’s exceptionally passionate about music with a natural skill that isn’t found often. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier isn’t used to his teachers liking him, but it’s a nice change in pace. He’s only in his first year but he’s already been told that in a year he should expect invitations to participate in the school’s annual bardic competitions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is an exciting prospect, but even more exciting is Valdo Marx from his Bardic Studies class. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo is in his third year and is exceptionally handsome. His face is strong and angular, he has wavy brown hair, cocoa brown eyes, and a scruffy looking beard. Bearded men aren’t usually his type but Jaskier is enchanted by pretty much anything Valdo does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had first noticed him after catching the man staring at him from the row above him in the lecture hall. Instead of looking away and getting embarrassed at being caught staring, Valdo had simply winked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had flushed and turned back to the professor. He’d struggled to focus and take notes for the rest of the class period. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo dresses extravagantly and always seems to be wearing a flamboyant hat and Jaskier is sure he comes from a well to do family. He speaks in flowery language to match his frilly outfits. Jaskier thinks it fits him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They’ve been dancing around each other for months. Jaskier is extremely busy between his classes and work and Valdo is a tease. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the lack of much real interaction between them, Jaskier is sure he must be in love. The kind of love one writes ballads on. He’s in love with being in love. It’s the perfect muse and he’d been desperate for real experiences to write songs about when he was on the road. Now he’s sure he’ll at least have something to write about once he’s graduated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>______</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Jaskier,” Valdo drawls one day after class, approaching him with a lazy smile on his face. They’d just finished an assignment on creating an original song with no lyrics. Jaskier had just presented his, so he beams at his classmate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Valdo. Did you enjoy my presentation,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo snorts and makes a move to stand closer to him and his heart pounds “I believe you mean performance. Calling that anything less would be a grave insult.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shrugs “Go big or go home as I always say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that they’re standing closer Jaskier can see just how beautiful Valdo is. He must be a bit older. Jaskier is only 17 but Valdo looks like he must be in his early 20’s? </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Valdo tips his head, “Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you Buttercup,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s face flames up at the name. “Well,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to get dinner with me this evening?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s face twists and he looks away “I know you know I’m a peasant. Everyone does.” and it’s true. It had been something people had gossiped about when he’d first begun attending, but he had just embraced the attention and loudly decreed that he was in fact, completely broke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have to work every night, or I would gladly go with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo tsks and reaches up to cup Jaskier’s face softly in his hands, “No need to worry about that my dear, I’ve gotten you the night off, so you’re free to do as you please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s eyes widen and he nods, “Then of course!” he tries not to sound too eager but he’s sure he fails. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good, I’ll pick you up at 7 my dear,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo’s touch lingers for another moment before he turns and walks away, breaking the contact they’d been sharing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier exhales, his heart pounding. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so in love he doesn’t know what to do with himself.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They become exclusive soon after. Jaskier practically attaches himself to Valdo who lavishes him in attention and love. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo gives him pet names and smiles at his long rambling speeches, even adding his input every so often to show he’s actually listening to all the nonsense that Jaskier goes on about. They joke and laugh together and they share tender moments. They hold hands and kiss in the dark of night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their relationship means everything to Jaskier, and as the months go by Valdo slates himself into the hole in his heart that has always longed for companionship. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s perfect and Jaskier doesn’t think he could live without Valdo anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier wakes up cozy and snuggles into the warmth beside him. Drowsily he cracks an eye open and smiles at Valdo who yawns and smiles back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning dear,” Jaskier hums, sitting up and stretching his arms out. Valdo groans and pulls the covers back up to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do we have to get up?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier yanks the blankets back and gives him a fond look, “You know that we do. Come on, we have class.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo groans, but sits up as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nudges him and smirks, “If you’re free tonight, I’m not doing anything. We could go out if you’d like.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This earns a huff from his lover and he raises a brow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to, but you should’ve told me in advance. I’m performing at a tavern with some friends and I can’t ditch them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shrugs, “It’s no big deal, I could come and watch you if that’s alright? Watching you perform is always a treat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo shrugs, “Sure, if you want. We could go out tomorrow night though?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head, “I’ve got work tomorrow night. I’m off Tuesday though?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo tenses and Jaskier bites his lip nervously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His work schedule has become a bit of a sore spot for them, and it’s only gotten worse the longer they’ve been together. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t need to work if you would just let me pay for your bloody tuition.” the soft tone from before is gone, and Valdo’s face twists in frustration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier reaches out and takes his hand tenderly, “We’ve talked about this. I’m just not comfortable with that. I know it makes no sense to you but I like being able to do this for myself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo snatches his hands away from Jaskier’s grip, “Well you’re right. It doesn’t make sense to me. I’m trying to help you and you refuse to accept it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier exhales slowly, trying to clamp down on his frustration, “Well I don’t want your help with this. I can handle myself just fine and I’m not comfortable with you paying my tuition. We’ve only been together for a few months!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo glares, “Oh, so this is just some temporary thing to you,” he stands and starts getting dressed pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know that’s not what I’m saying!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well then what are you saying?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m saying that I’m not comfortable with you paying for something so expensive for me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo sneers, “I think you just like having an excuse to whore yourself out for money.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s mouth falls open in shock, “What? I haven’t done anything like that!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you, a peasant, just managed to get into the best and most pricy and exclusive bardic program on the continent, because you’re that talented?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sputters, “Yes! Because that’s what happened! How could you think so little of me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valdo rolls his eyes, “Everyone’s thinking it.” then he mutters, “Or at least they did before you got all fucking popular.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stares at him in disbelief, hurt flickering in his eyes and Valdo smirks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. When I first started going out with me everyone said I was crazy. They said I was such a kind soul for giving a worthless whore like you a chance to experience real love. Some even said there was no way a peasant like you could understand such complex feelings but I brushed them off”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sharp brown eyes stare into tearful blue ones and Valdo continues, “Now I think maybe they were right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier breaks his gaze away and stares at the sheets, blinking away the tears that are welling in his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not as if he hadn’t noticed that as his musical talent becomes more widely known, Valdo has become more and more jealous. He’d tried to comfort the man a few times, but Valdo had brushed his compliments off, and it hadn’t seemed too serious so Jaskier had just let it drop. It was just a few bitter comments now and again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hesitates now and considers that he might’ve made a mistake letting that go on this long. He has no idea how to fix it now though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice is a bit choked up as he murmurs “Look, I’m not trying to hurt you. I love you so much, I just wouldn’t feel right accepting such a large gift when I would never be able to pay it back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo just gives him a look and shrugs, “Well then don’t. See you in class Jaskier.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He storms off and Jaskier falls back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. He’d thought his peers had always held some level of respect for him despite his current status (however untrue) as a peasant, but clearly he’d been wrong. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks on Valdo’s words for a few moments, wiping at his eyes and cursing his over-emotional nature for getting the better of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve had this argument so many times and every time they do Valdo gets more and more aggressive about it. It’s as if his lover thinks it’s a personal insult to him that Jaskier is capable of providing for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has to be dependent on himself, at least on this. If he can’t do this truly for himself it won’t feel right. He’s proud of how hard he’s had to work to find his place here and how much of a struggle it is to gain respect as a peasant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could easily have just announced himself as a viscount and gotten in, but instead, he’s had to work for what he has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Valdo doesn’t get that though and he doesn’t know how to explain it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just sighs and gets ready for the day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ll apologize to each other in a bit and at least then a few weeks will go by before the issue is brought up again. He knows Valdo doesn’t mean all that horrible stuff he says, and Jaskier can overlook the flaw of his lover’s temper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d overlook just about anything really if it kept him from being alone again.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the school year draws to a close, the issues in their relationship fall into the background. There’s no need for jealousy when they aren’t performing all summer, the occasional show at a small local tavern notwithstanding, and they never speak of Jaskier’s tuition because his work schedule becomes looser over the summer months. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo snaps at him much less and they rarely argue. There’s nothing to prompt any rising tempers, and they spend most of their days lounging around on their balcony and relaxing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier moved in with Valdo in early June and he’s sure they’ll be together forever. The relationship isn’t perfect, but Jaskier thinks it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It certainly feels like far more than a monster such as himself deserves, and sometimes he feels a bit bad for deceiving Valdo about his nature, but he’s selfish in some ways. Valdo hates all things magic. Mages, monsters, elves, witchers, and really any unusual person you could think of Valdo openly despises. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier just goes along with those opinions when Valdo voices them and clamps down on the energy that is always buzzing around inside him even more than usual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Other than that, everything is perfect. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Warm summer nights are spent drinking fancy ale Valdo brings home and singing to one another until they stumble into bed to fuck until they’re too tired to stand. Valdo is Jaskier’s first everything and he’s glad he can give all of himself to the man. And give all of himself he does. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d do anything for Valdo, and he’s grateful for the lack of petty squabbles over the summer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their relationship is good year-round, he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, but they bicker so much. Valdo always seems to have an issue with him and it hurts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not in the summer though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even though Jaskier loves Oxenfurt, and thrives on his classes, he dreads fall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When school does start back though, and just as Jaskier feared Valdo begins pushing him on the tuition issue again. Jaskier remains firm in his refusal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The unspoken jealousy also comes back stronger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is sought after for the fall bardic competition which Valdo had won every year since he first began attending. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier winds up winning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His performance is objectively better in all honesty, and he’d thought Valdo would be happy for him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they announced him as the winner he yells with joy and toasts to his lover in his acceptance speech. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He scans the crowd for Valdo’s eyes as he receives his medal, and when he finds them he inhales sharply. Brown eyes pierce into him like daggers and Valdo’s face is twisted in barely repressed rage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He flinches at his boyfriend’s glare but forces himself to plaster a grin back onto his face. It wouldn’t be right to seem ungrateful for the honor that’s been bestowed upon him by frowning through the whole post-competition celebration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels less like a celebratory party and more like torture though. People come up to him to congratulate him all night, but he’s alone. Valdo avoids him and Jaskier doesn’t have any other friends he's close to. He catches a few classmates that are willing to briefly chat with him, but they’re here with friends or lovers of their own so they break away from him quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels more alone that night than he has in ages.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo doesn’t talk to him for days afterward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They live together, so it’s not as if he can completely avoid Jaskier, but he does fully ignore everything the younger man says to him. He even sleeps on the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier tries his best to fix things, but nothing he says seems to help. If anything, every time he tries to reassure Valdo that they’re equals and that Valdo would surely best him in the next competition, it seems to make him even angrier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One day after Jaskier presumably annoyed him just a little too much, Valdo turned and growled at him and banged his hand on their kitchen table violently. The loud noise made Jaskier jump and flinch back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dear-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just fucking drop it!” Valdo snarled and then proceeded to go on a rant detailing every one of Jaskier’s flaws. All of his failings a person and a musician were laid out in front of him and Valdo is spitting mad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier begged him to stop, trying to cut his boyfriend off throughout the speech, but Valdo pressed on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gave a detailed explanation of why Jaskier never should’ve been allowed into Oxenfurt in the first place, much less won a competition. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re nothing without me Jaskier! Fucking nothing!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sobbed and nodded desperately. He pleaded with Valdo to forgive him and begged him to stop. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right- I know you’re right. Please just stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo started to open his mouth again but Jaskier cut in desperately.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re right! I’m not even a very good bard! I was practically booed off stages before I came here- Valdo listen-! Listen it must’ve just been a fluke. The judges must’ve made a mistake! That’s all. Or maybe they pity me. You should’ve won. Anyone with ears could tell that.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a bit hard to even tell what Jaskier had been saying through his heaving breaths and hiccuping. His gut twists up inside as he dismisses an accomplishment he’d worked so hard for. He’d been proud of his win at the competition but now he wished he’d never even agreed to enter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continued to beg Valdo not to leave him until he’d completely exhausted himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, after what seemed like years, Valdo put a hand on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Jaskier, I won’t leave you. I forgive you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier practically collapsed onto him, clinging to his lover like he could disappear at any moment. Valdo didn’t return the affection, but he didn't push Jaskier off and that was enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day they tensely start to get back into a normal routine, but Jaskier can see the anger brewing inside his lover. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each time someone congratulates him on his performance in the competition when they’re walking around campus together, he can’t help but flinch and glance at Valdo, who always smiles amicably and gushes about how lucky he is to have Jaskier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they get home he is always promptly ignored all night, as Valdo stomps around. If he tries to say anything to calm the man down he’s snapped at, so he gives up trying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just sits on their balcony and watches people going about their days and thinks of the summer months when they’d been happy. Before he’d ruined everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should’ve known how much it would hurt Valdo for Jaskier to beat him in the competition. He should have known it would spiral into this. He hates himself for having let this happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The school reduces his working hours soon after the fall competition, saying that they don’t want someone as talented as Jaskier wasting his energy working long, hard hours. They say they need him focused on his studies because he’s proven he’s exceptionally talented. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is sure they’re hopeful that he’ll become a professor after he graduates and want him to feel as welcome here as possible so he’ll stick around. He doesn’t see why he shouldn’t teach though, if only for a short while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When he tells Valdo about it, he seems to pick up on the underlying wishes of the bard as well and becomes even tenser around Jaskier, who desperately clings to him, trying to soothe his insecurities and keep him from growing angry.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is at a loss for how to fix things in all honesty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not as if he can stop participating in the competitions, Valdo would get even more upset if he did that. He would feel patronized and insulted. The only plan he can think up is to purposefully start aiming for second place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cares about his career greatly of course, but he doesn’t want to go back to being alone again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to graduate from Oxenfurt, teach for a bit with Valdo at his side, and then he wants to go with his love and travel the continent together. He wants them to perform together for the rest of their lives. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s desperate to not lose the only person who’s cared about him in years, but like most things in life, it’s far beyond his control. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>One afternoon in the late fall Jaskier has no work and arrives home from his classes before Valdo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s starting to get a bit cold and he’s alone so he glances over at the fireplace. A fire erupts there as he wills it to. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he does this he realizes he hasn’t used his magic in ages, so he decides to get some chores done and release some energy at the same time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back before he’d moved into Valdo’s upscale apartments, he’d been staying in a small backroom on his own. He’d always used magic to clean then and he doesn’t see what the harm would be in doing so again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been careful to not let anyone, Valdo included, see him doing magic. Even human mages are regarded with great distaste. He’s heard people he’s thought were friendly enough wishing all mages dead. Jaskier isn’t even a normal mage, so he’s not willing to risk anyone finding out what he can do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he’s alone he needs to do something to keep his magic from getting all bottled up inside him though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he goes too long without using any magic, it gets all twisted in his gut and he gets jittery. It becomes hard to focus and there’s a constant buzzing in the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he gets out a broom and mop and waves his hand, humming a tune that the supplies dance along to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabs his lute and settles on the couch in their main room to practice a song he’d been working on in class that day, channeling magic into the utensils across the room effortlessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s nice to use magic again and takes practically no effort. Magic comes even easier to him than music does, so he barely even has to think about what he’s doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just strums lightly on his lute and watches as the floor gets cleaned by the dancing mop and broom. He mentally pretends they’re two lovers trapped in an eternal dance and has the tools do little spins every so often to amuse himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a peaceful afternoon and he hasn’t had time to truly relax in ages. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He finds himself zoning out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even notice his boyfriend coming inside.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck?” Valdo shrieks and Jaskier sits up suddenly, the broom and mop clattering to the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Valdo!” Jaskier’s eyes are wide and Valdo meets them with a frenzied look of his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were moving on their own!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No- Maybe you uhh, saw wrong?” it sounds like a weak excuse to him and he winces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I know what I saw. How the hell was- How?” Valdo walks up to the broom and takes it in his hand hesitantly and flipped it over, examining it suspiciously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s umm, well that is…” Jaskier huffs “it’s not the broom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo leans the broom on the wall and turns to face Jaskier, but takes a step away from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier holds up his hands, “Don’t be afraid. Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo shakes his head and runs a shaky hand through his hair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you? A mage?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head “No, I don’t think so. Or well, I don’t know but, but I’m the same person! This doesn’t have to change anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo stumbles over to the kitchen table and sinks into a chair. Jaskier starts to stand and go over towards him but Valdo shakes his head, “You stay there. Don’t come closer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s gut twists familiarly and he curses himself. He’d already lost his mother to his freakish magic and now he was losing Valdo as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please Valdo,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you are but,” the older man shakes his head, “I see now. You’ve enchanted me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head but Valdo continues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ve enchanted me and- oh!” the man’s shocked and fearful expression twisting into something angry “That’s how you beat me! You won the fall competition with your- your tricks!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier cuts him off “I didn’t! I would never! I never use it on people I swear. I just have to get it out of me sometimes.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo won’t hear it though, “No, I fell for your lies once but I won’t now. You’re a fucking mage and you’ve been tricking me this whole time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier tries to say something but he’s cut off by Valdo again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want your excuses you freak! Mages are good for nothing pieces of shit and this proves it. Melitele I can’t believe I let myself get enchanted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier desperately shouts “I didn’t enchant you! I swear I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo gives him a long look and growls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving.” he stands and straightens out the coat he never even took off, “I expect you to be gone by the time I’m back.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier springs forward and grabs Valdo’s wrist but the man twists out of his grip and pushes him away harshly. Jaskier stumbles back in shock and crashes to the ground. He looks up at Valdo in shock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t- don’t leave me.” it comes out as a pleading whisper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo gives him a cold look and then leaves the room, leaving Jaskier standing there feeling broken-hearted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes his way back to their room and numbly packs his bags. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His vision blurs as he throws his clothes in a bag and he wipes at his eyes desperately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You brought this on yourself,” he whispers angrily to himself and shuts his eyes tight, turning his head and trying to force his tears back. “You always ruin everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have anywhere to stay that night, but he won’t disregard Valdo’s wishes and stay, so he wanders around in the cold until classes start the next morning. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He asks if he can have his old rooms back and the staff agrees easily, even offering to upgrade his accommodations in light of his recent performances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He refuses the offer, telling them he doesn’t mind the more humble rooms. He also requests that they increase his workload again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hole opens up in him again, and he mourns for the loss of the only person he’s let himself get close to in years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just another good thing he’s ruined by being a fucking monster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The increased workload isn’t enough. Every night he lies awake and thinks about how much he wishes he was normal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts going out to taverns and performing nearly every night. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s much more successful than he’d been when he was a traveling bard. He sings the classics mostly. His originals are all either childish things he’d written when he was young or things he’d composed for Valdo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has songs of love and heartbreak, but they all either hurt his heart too much to sing or are far too maudlin to perform for a crowd. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d only performed in taverns a few times after coming to Oxenfurt before the breakup, and as he started to do so more often he found himself loving it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s so much energy from the crowd, drunken men shouting and pretty women batting their eyes at him as he dances around singing anything with a fun tune. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In return for the business his performances pull into these taverns, he’s allowed his pick of their ale free of charge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier can’t believe he was ever hung up on that whole love thing. Who needs that when you can be out getting sloshed and entertaining the masses (who honestly, are so much more fun than all the stiff noble-borns around the school).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One night a particularly bold girl approaches him after his performance, grinning seductively and laughing just a little too much at everything he says. Her cheeks are rosy, and her breath smells slightly of ale. She’s been drinking sure, but she’s just a bit tipsy and so is Jaskier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stumble across town to his rooms at school, and in the morning he leaves her a glass of water on his nightstand and slips out to go to class without a word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This begins Jaskier’s long string of affairs with both men and women. None of it means anything, but it fills a certain emptiness in him and warms his bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sometimes sees Valdo around campus and always tries to catch his eyes but he’s always very pointedly ignored. They have no classes together this year and Jaskier understands that Valdo doesn’t want to see him. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He revealed himself to be a monster, after all, and Jaskier is aware that the reaction is completely reasonable. Even his own mother hadn’t been able to love him after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every time he catches sight of the man though, he feels gutted all over again. Every time he thinks he’s over it he’s catching a glimpse of a scruffy beard or overly frilly clothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t help but wonder if, had their roles been reversed, would he have been so terrified and angry at Valdo for being able to do such freakish things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He can’t imagine it, but he’s never really been able to understand why being able to do magic is such a bad thing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He supposes he’d get it if he were human maybe. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The spring bardic competition is approaching the next time Jaskier speaks to Valdo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man catches him outside a tavern as he stumbles away, drunk on ale and the joy of performing for a good audience. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo yanks him harshly into an alleyway and Jaskier goes to scream, but Valdo shushes him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he processes who it was that had grabbed him so aggressively he blinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Hello.” Jaskier greets with a confused tilt of his head “Miss me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hardly.” Valdo growls “My life is better in every way without you. I can see now that only an enchantment could have forced me to stay around you when you were intentionally destroying my career.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When did I ever do that?” Jaskier scrunches up his nose in confusion “Are you talking about the fall competition? That was no enchantment love, sorry to disappoint.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo laughs at that, “As if I’d trust you. Besides, that’s not what I’m here to talk about. This is about the spring competition.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods and gestures for him to go on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drop out. Or lose intentionally, I don’t care. I’ll be getting first place.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier lets out a startled laugh. It’s a bitter thing, unlike his usual cheerful giggles. “Why would I do that? We’re not even together anymore.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo rolls his eyes “Because if you beat me, I’ll tell everyone that you’re a fucking freak. Think the board will hold up your little deal if they know you’re a...” he pauses and his face twists up, “God I don’t even know, a mage?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s eyes narrow, “Are you serious? After everything, you would try to get me kicked out because what? I used magic to clean our- your apartment?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo shakes his head, “It’s more than that. You’ve been enchanting everyone. There’s a reason we don’t want mages around here. Sure there’s no official rule about it but no mages have ever attended here other than you, and you were barely even in as-is...” he pauses and then adds, “So try probably isn’t the right word. I will get you kicked out if you don’t let me win.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier holds back a comment about how he’s not even sure that he is a mage. He doubts being an unknown non-human creature that can do magic would exactly be any better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have no proof. Who will believe you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m a noble Jaskier, and you’re a nobody. My word is worth more than yours and you know it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And the real kicker is that he does know it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” he hisses, “I can’t believe I ever loved you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you think I’d be dumb enough to believe something like you can even feel love.” Valdo flips his hair and turns dramatically, “See you around Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo wins the spring competition and Jaskier comes in third. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the first in a long string of demands made by his former lover. Anytime Valdo needs or wants something, he calls on Jaskier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The longer he’s extorted by Valdo, the more hatred grows inside him. Where once he only wished for Valdo to come back and love him again, he now wishes the man would simply boil alive and melt into a puddle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every day it’s</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier go get me lunch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I have class.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well I can fix that. I’ll just go to the dean and tell her about your little situation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier, I need your coin”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What for? I know you have plenty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes but I want yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Or, </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier I need an original poem for my class by tomorrow. I trust you can get that done?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no end to the menial requests Valdo pulls out of his ass for him to complete. Half the time he’ll bring food back for the man and it will promptly be dumped in the garbage. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo doesn’t want much from him. He just enjoys seeing him suffer. It’s utterly frustrating and he wants to scream at him to fuck off, but a need to preserve his reputation prevents him from doing so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier just grits his teeth and does whatever his ex asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’ll tell the woman he wants to sleep with that she's an ugly hag. He’ll brew tea and then say nothing as the still boiling drink is poured all over him. He’ll skip class to perform minor chores such as fetching a friend of Valdo’s for him or doing his shopping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does it all because he loves Oxenfurt and he’d do anything to stay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if anything is performing useless tasks for the sick amusement of his deranged ex-lover. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One day Valdo asks for a rare monster part. An alghoul claw. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t question it, it’s pretty par for the course. Requesting some weird obscure item he has to scrounge around for in the markets for days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just gathers his coin and searches all the local alchemists and merchants in town for the item. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one has it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he’s heading back to school to inform Valdo that there’s no way for him to get this for him when he sees a notice posted on the town board asking for a witcher to go kill the very creature the claws he needs are attached to. A large ghoul nest with an Alghoul that’s been attacking travelers on their way into town.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo had to have known. This had to have been intentional. What use could a noble-born man studying the liberal arts possibly have for an alghoul claw? It’s an excuse to send Jaskier off to his brutal death. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier clenches his fists and stands there staring at the notice for what feels like ages, breathing heavily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rips it from the bulletin board and sees red. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo wants to try to get him killed? He’ll fucking show him. He’s not near as defenseless as he looks. Doesn’t his ex remember the part where he’s a mage (maybe?).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He storms back to his room and makes his plans for how to kill the monsters. He composes a few songs meant to lure them in and then destroy them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day Valdo asks about the monster part and Jaskier assures him he’ll have it by Monday morning. Valdo smirks and that and Jaskier gives him a cold smile right back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How he’d ever loved this man he’ll never know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo is jealous, angry, and vindictive. Jaskier hates him. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier spends every bit of free time he has leading up to the fight pouring over tomes about monsters in the library and devising ways to take care of this threat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s never used magic to fight before, and he’s never even seen a real monster(other than himself.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to be unprepared for the coming fight so he takes every precaution he can.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The weekend eventually rolls around, and there is no more help books can give him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier heads out into the forest toward the location indicated by the notice he’d stolen. It hadn’t been very specific, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask the Alderman for more information. He would look like a fool.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he gets to the general area where the attacks have been happening, he takes his lute, begins to pluck a sorrowful tune and sings,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come little children”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'll take thee away”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Into a land of enchantment”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come little children”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Magic fills the air and Jaskier trails off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ghouls are already being pulled in, unable to resist the draw of the magic. He quickly changes the tone of his playing. The soft and mournful plucking morphs into aggressive strumming. He pours his rage and heartache in the music.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few ghouls start to lunge at him but a blue energy that has started to roll off Jaskier in waves grips them and throws them back away from the bard.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts to sing in the language he’d used when he’d revived his village’s crops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Back then he’d sung of life, growth, and peace. Now he sings with violence and anger on his tongue. He sings of death and the energy inside him lashes out at the monsters attacking him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sings of pain, and ghouls fall at his feet, ripped apart brutally by the power Jaskier wields so easily. They’re ripped apart, torn limb from limb, and their insides are discarded all around the singing bard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continues to throw them back, launching them away and slicing through their thick, rotten skin violently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One attacks him from the front and he yells in frustration as it nearly slices at his cheek. He takes a hand off his lute and waves it desperately, sending the ghoul flying back. Then there’s a sharp pain in his shoulders as one sneaks up behind him while he’s distracted and begins to claw at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He yells, and flails back, kicking at the ghoul and waving magical blast after blast until he’s sliced the creature into bits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was the last of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffs, putting a hand to his shoulder and hisses at the blood that comes away. The cut hurts something awful, but it’s not deep. He’ll be fine with a bit of magic later on after he’s restored his energy. Then he looks at his doublet and hisses again. It’s filthy and torn nearly to shreds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He inhales deeply. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s no time to lose focus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>During his studies on these creatures, he’d learned that the alghoul is a much smarter creature than the average ghoul. Stronger too. Jaskier knows it must be watching and waiting for him to lower his guard to come out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It may seem like it would be difficult to make yourself seem vulnerable while covered in the splattered guts of your enemies(it’s even in his hair, which is disgusting frankly), but Jaskier is a bard, and a good bard must also be a good actor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes a show of moaning and sinking to the ground, pressing his hands on the shallow wound and whimpering pitifully. It’s not very difficult to make himself seem pathetic, the cut does hurt something fierce. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs a hand through his filthy hair and shakes, staying acutely alert of any noises around him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slight rustle in the bushes behind him gives him ample warning to turn as the alghoul lunges at him and he turns and screams at it. Magic lashes out and sends the monster crashing to the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It screams and begins to pace around Jaskier, who stands, ignoring the dark spots that dance across his vision. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The alghoul is a much more intimidating foe than the other ghouls that lie around their feet, but Jaskier is sure he can take care of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He strums on his lute, finding his bearings and resuming the angry tune he’s played earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums along, and the alghoul tenses, still circling him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Jaskier falls silent. He draws in a deep breath and holds up his hands. He pulls his energy into a tight grasp and then, with a cry, throws it at the alghoul. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The monster roars at the sudden movement and leaps at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It only makes it a few feet before Jaskiers magic grabs it tightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier tightens his grip on it and then, focusing on where his magic is concentrated, pulls the creature's screaming head from its shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He waits until the monster is done squirming, before releasing it to the ground. It falls with a thump right in front of him, and the head rolls away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier reaches down, pulls the monster’s claws out from its mangled hands, and pockets them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he grabs the head, which is lying a few feet away to take to the alderman. There was a contract out for killing these creatures after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’ll use the coin to get a new doublet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks out over the slain ghouls. They all died rather violently, and he grimaces at the gore left all over the trail. He kicks aside some of the guts so they won’t block the path to Oxenfurt too much. It would be a shame if someone was scared off from coming to see such a flourishing city over this disgusting display.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If these weren’t completely mindless monsters who reveled in killing innocent travelers he might feel a bit bad about literally kicking their corpses. He doesn’t though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he leaves, he follows the ghoul’s trail into the woods to their nest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d read that so long as their nests remain, they will keep coming back. He’s also read that there’s a very particular way they must be eradicated for it to work properly. Witchers and other monster hunters use specific types of bombs for this type of work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just waves his hand and the nest explodes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slams open the door to the alderman’s, alghoul head in hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A rather burly and rough-looking man with dark brown hair and deep scarring across his face turns to look at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles at him and the man looks a bit put off. Then he notices the eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They're a striking gold color that Jaskier admittedly might find quite beautiful if not for the absolute blind panic they inspire in him now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His smile drops and his breath catches in his throat. His hand twitches towards the door instinctively, but he pushes down on the urge to flee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows it won’t do him any good after all. His mother had made it pretty clear that he could never hope to outrun a witcher once one had their eyes set on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe the man won’t sense that he’s a monster? He hasn't made any indication that he wants to run Jaskier through slowly and brutally yet, but he hasn't indicated much of anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He and the Witcher stare at each other for a long moment, and Jaskier is gripped with a feeling he hasn't felt since he left home years ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's almost nostalgic, being so completely and utterly terrified yet resigned. He hadn't wanted to die then and he doesn't want to die now, and yet, if the Witcher decides to cut him down, he won't try to stop him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It's a Witcher’s job to kill monsters, and Jaskier knows that at the end of the day that's what he is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath and mutters, "I killed the alghoul." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The alderman peeks his head out from around the Witcher with wide eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, “Yes well,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t elaborate, just steps around the Witcher and sets the head down gingerly on the Aldermans desk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I came for the coin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man nods. The poor guy looks shocked and stumbles a bit as he heads into the back room to get the coin, which makes Jaskier feel a bit bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s certainly a sight. A small bard, lute strapped to his back, clearly very young, blood still trickling from the wound on his shoulder, and covered in guts bringing you the head of a violent monster he'd killed isn't exactly something you see every day. He knows he has to reek on top of that and if he lives he plans to go buy some perfumes and soaps to get the stench off after he’s rested a bit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Witcher is watching him carefully and Jaskier forces himself to not fidget or tremble. His heart pounds even harder in his chest with each passing moment but he's careful not to show his fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alghouls aren’t an easy kill.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He forces himself to shrug tensely, “Well, even a regular man such as myself can get a lucky hit in right? I’m lucky to be alive.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders if Witchers can sense lies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe not, since this one doesn’t say anything, just continues to watch him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How old are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks, “18?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The witcher hums thoughtfully, “Lucky indeed. You should be more careful when you’re traveling alone in the future.” The man blows a stray hair out of his face and glances pointedly at the wound on his shoulder, “You humans are so squishy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he doesn’t know. Jaskier resists the urge to slump in relief and just grins. “Yes well, we can’t all be rock solid and heal in an instant. I can defend myself just fine though.” he gestures towards the monster parts on the desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clearly.” the Witcher nods and turns to leave. He hesitates for a moment, as if he's considering saying something else, but eventually he just shakes his head and leaves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heaves a sigh of relief and a wave of calm washes over him. So Witchers really can’t sense his monstrousness just by looking at him after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He holds a disgusting hand to his face and lets out something that is a mix between a laugh and a sob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He's alive. He met a Witcher and he's alive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s met the supposed unstoppable creature that had frightened into complete obedience as a child and honestly, it had been such an unremarkable conversation that had it been anyone else he wouldn’t even remember it tomorrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He allows himself to briefly consider the idea that he's not actually a monster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he were surely a Witcher would be able to tell after all?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He brushes that thought aside with a glance at the alghoul head. The monsters he killed might've been mindless creatures that deserved it, but the fact that he was able to cut them down so easily with nothing but a song and the energy inside him...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That's definitely not human.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As his adrenaline slowly dies down, Jaskier reconsiders everything that's just happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Witcher hadn’t seemed so bad honestly? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders if Witchers are really as monstrous as people say they are. Maybe, if Witchers aren’t as terrible as people assume, whatever he is doesn't have to make him an unlovable creature as fit for life as the monster in front of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s certainly something to ponder over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The Alderman eventually returns with his coin. He hands it to Jaskier nervously and the bard gives him a soft smile. “Thank you kindly, have a nice day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clearly shaken man just gives a loose smile that’s more of a grimace than anything. Jaskier is impressed the man hasn’t fainted yet with how horrified he is by everything that’s happening. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t look that bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He catches a glimpse of himself in a small mirror as he leaves the small room and takes that thought back. He looks absolutely horrifying. There’s dried blood and guts all over his face, guts and dirt clumped together in his hair, and his clothes are completely torn apart. His lute is the only thing attached to him that isn’t completely disheveled.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he walks back to his small rooms, he pushes all thoughts of Witchers and magic from his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, he thinks over more important matters, like what color doublet he should get with the money he's just earned. The one he’s currently wearing absolutely must be replaced. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The look on Valdo Marx’s face when Jaskier walks up to him in the courtyard and dumps the Alghoul claws in his lap might be the best thing he's ever seen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo stares at the claws, picking them up hesitantly and then looking up at Jaskier in confusion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It’s the alghoul claws you asked for."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But- how?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles and shrugs. They both know how he got them. There was only one possible place he could've gotten them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches the gears turn in Marx's head with a smirk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you?” the man asks shakily, taking the claws in his hands hesitantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jaskier smiles cheerfully, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Was there anything else you needed me to do for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo shakes his head and Jaskier hums cheerfully, giving a toothy grin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thought so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They part there and don’t see each other for years. Valdo avoids Jaskier passionately, and Jaskier revels in the fearful look the man gives him when they pass each other on campus. The year eventually ends and Valdo graduates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Summer flies by in a buzz of performing in taverns, drinking ale, and fucking beautiful people. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier returns to his third year at Oxenfurt determined to prove himself as the best bard to ever grace the continent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wins every bardic competition and rises to the top of his classes. Several of his teachers call him the greatest student they’ve ever had. He just smiles and calls them flatterers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only subject he’s even remotely mediocre in is composition. His knowledge of music theory is great and his tunes are fantastic. He can create interesting melodies that draw people in with the lute easily, but he has nothing to sing about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He has no muse and his lyrics fall flat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He brushes aside his failures in composition with a mask of overconfidence. He truly is a good musician, and he is confident in his abilities. He plays it up though. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He manages to sleep his way through nearly the entire school and half the surrounding town. He shows off his skills and is generally cocky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His third year turns to his fourth year and before he knows it he’s graduating and being offered a position teaching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes it of course. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He owes Oxenfurt everything. It allowed him to grow from the young insecure and homesick teen who had no clue he was holding his lute wrong, to a man who can hold himself with the pride of a fully competent bard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He teaches for a year. It’s fulfilling work, and he loves seeing his students grow from young boys much like he had been, unsure of how to properly strum a lute or lyre much less create music to wow the masses, to confident young men. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His students love him and he is deeply proud of their accomplishments. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite how much he enjoyed his year teaching full time, when summer rolls around again he requests to teach only in the winters. He’s been at Oxenfurt for 5 years now, and he’s ready for a change. He wants to set out and see the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His dream has always been to be a traveling bard, and he’s finally ready. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The school readily grants his request, promising that he’ll always have a place at Oxenfurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier heads back out onto the roads, heading off in a random direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s 21 and he’s going to play his songs for the continent. </span>
  <span></span><br/>

  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He just has to find something to sing about first. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. First Meetings and New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier sees a rather attractive man in the corner of a tavern in Posada and decides to approach him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And finally, Geralt has entered the chat :))<br/>This chapter was s o hard to write for some reason, but it's here, and hopefully, it's not too bad. A lot of the dialogue doesn't belong to me, it comes from the actual show, so credit to the writers and all that fun stuff. </p><p>I also just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's left kudos and commented on the last two chapters! It means a lot &lt;333</p><p>This fic is beta read by @imaginary.indigo &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” Jaskier runs his hands over his face in frustration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s sitting on a log not far out from the small town of Posada. He’d set up camp a few hours ago and had long since run out of sunlight to aid him in seeing his notebook. An almost ethereal glow flickers across his notebook from a small magic orb he’d summoned to prevent the eye strain staring at fire-lit pages is so eager to cause. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows he will arrive tomorrow in town the next day, where he’ll grace the local peasants with his lovely voice. He’d just also like to grace them with an actually good fucking song though, and his frustration is mounting at his persistent inability to compose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And look, he’s performed at plenty of taverns in his life. He’s won bardic competitions for his singing and his originals aren’t exactly terrible. He’s far too talented to be worried over what the people of Posada have to say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s just that none of his songs are interesting. They all lack any real depth and he knows they aren’t catchy enough to get popular. All he has is a handful of uninspired music he’s written and songs people have heard one-hundred times before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How am I meant to become a famous bard if I can’t come up with one damned song!” he moans to himself, flopping back over the log, his hair pressed against the dirt and his back digging awkwardly into the wood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a huff, he holds his notebook up to look at it, grabbing the magical light and positioning it so he can actually read his writing from his new position. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This song is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No, a mess doesn’t even start to describe this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What is it even about?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabs his pen and scratches out a particularly horrible line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Surely I can do better than that,” he groans to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But apparently not because he sits there for what feels like hours, just staring at the page. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mind is blank! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s consistently found that coming up with songs about adventures and heroes and monsters isn’t an easy task when he’s only ever seen one thing that could be classified as an adventure, and it’s not like he can exactly tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> story. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would sound even more unrealistic than whatever this dreck is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A bard singing angrily and demolishing a nest of ghouls and an alghoul brutally? People would definitely think that’s reasonable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Totally</span>
  </em>
  <span> realistic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As far as Jaskier’s heard, magic isn’t actually meant to have anything to do with singing, and the whole give and take thing remains consistent in all the books on magic he’s ever read, so the fact that he honestly did do that doesn’t mean anyone would believe him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he could always do a little demonstration, but he’s never had any positive experiences with showing people he can do magic, so that’s off the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Regardless, the fact of the matter is that he’s got fuck-all to write about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No matter how talented he is, a bard with no original songs is never going to become famous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And famous is his goal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s determined to become the best bard that’s ever been. He wants to be sought out by courts all across the continent. He wants all the grouchy innkeepers he has to deal with to grovel at his feet for him to grace their taverns with a performance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To do that he needs songs!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which clearly aren’t coming to him tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a drawn-out sigh, Jaskier packs up his notebook and writing supplies and shoves them in his satchel. He waves a hand and his bedroll sets itself out and the fire he’d set up earlier burns a bit brighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I might have nothing to work with, but what are they gonna do?” he mumbles to himself as he settles in for the night, “Boo me off the stage?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not as if he hasn’t encountered plenty of cruel crowds before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay now really, throwing bread at the bard? That’s just plain rude. Not to mention a terrible attempt at hurting his feelings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier snorts to himself. It’s honestly their loss. Perfectly good food just tossed at him for free. In his opinion, free bread’s nearly as good as a proper tip regardless of the intentions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He bends down and starts gathering the rolls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Really these are all practically untouched. If one ignores the bit of floor dirt they’ve acquired, most of it would be fine to serve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts to stuff it all in his pants but is distracted by a particularly fine specimen of man sitting across the tavern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe Posada isn’t all bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes his way across the tavern, staring at the stranger curiously. He’s alone and dressed head to toe in dark armor. His hair is strikingly white, but he’s not old at all. He can’t be older than his 30’s, Jaskier guesses. Now that he’s looking, he notes that the man also has two large swords leaning against the wall next to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love the way you just...” Jaskier leans against a wooden beam, “Sit in the corner and brood.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man grunts and rolls his eyes, “I’m here to drink alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, what a boring attitude to have!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good, yeah good.” he brushes him off, “No one else has hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except for you,” he ambles forwards a bit towards the man’s table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gives a little smirk, “Come on, you don’t wanna keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting? Do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He invites himself to sit with the stranger, sliding into the seat across from him, ignoring the way the aforementioned bread in his pants slides around uncomfortably, “Come one, you must have some review for me. Three words or less.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man just stares at him blankly for a moment before rumbling, “they don’t exist.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s face scrunches up in bewilderment. “Wh-what don’t exist?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man continues to glare blankly. “The creatures in your song.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And how would you know?” Jaskier huffs, before pausing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man just stares him dead in the eyes as the realization sinks in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. Ohhhhhh. Golden, nearly cat-like eyes a man could get lost in if he wasn’t afraid for his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This man is a Witcher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>How had he not noticed that? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His blood drains from his face and he freezes momentarily, drawing in a slightly shaky breath, before schooling his expression back into what he hopes looks like a lazy smile rather than a tense grimace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s met a Witcher before, and he hadn’t done anything to him. There’s nothing indicating this one has any suspicions that Jaskier is anything but human, so there’s no need to start freaking out. His mother was obviously wrong about at least that. Witchers can’t tell he’s not human just from looking at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart thunders in his chest regardless. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fun. White hair, big old loner, two very… very scary looking swords.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Swords for stabbing monsters- swords for stabbing me. Don’t kill me, don’t kill me please don’t kill me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man leans forward to set a tip down for the barmaid on the table and stands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sits there for a moment, taking small calming breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It suddenly occurs to him that this could be his only opportunity to see any sort of real adventure and he’s letting it walk away right this very moment. Witchers fight monsters, and what could make for a better song than an epic fight against a great evil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, okay, Jaskier is terrified of Witcher’s, so much so that he fears he might keel over at any moment in fear, but at the same time, he’s desperate for something to write songs about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s also not the best at thinking things through long-term. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ he thinks to himself ‘Follow the Witcher, don’t get killed, and get a great song out of it. Easy enough.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He silently runs through his very limited knowledge on Witcher’s as he stumbles after the gruff man. His description seems familiar. He thinks Valdo once told him a tale about an incident in Blaviken involving a white-haired Witcher matching the one he’s found himself now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know who you are,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Witcher doesn’t acknowledge this and simply walks around him and towards the door. Jaskier stands and spins to run after him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s still no response, but Jaskier thinks the witcher’s shoulders might’ve tensed ever so slightly- though that could’ve been his imagination. Still, it’s enough confirmation for him, because he’s just about sure he’s right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Called it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears a man going after the Witcher with a job and follows after them carefully, listening to their conversation about a devil stealing grain and watching from afar as the Witcher takes his payment. He grins widely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s just set his mind to following the Witcher and already there’s an adventure ripe for the writing about. A genuine devil. Jaskier hadn’t even known those were real, though his education on monsters is fairly limited. That would certainly make for a great ballad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rushes to grab his lute since there’s no way he’s leaving his baby alone for any amount of time, already running through things that rhyme with “devil” in his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Level? Revel? Oh, that could be good!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The devil </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of Posada</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That reveled… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reveled… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ahh, he’ll figure something out later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he hurries off after the Witcher he assures himself that so long as the Witcher has no reason to suspect him of being non-human, there doesn’t seem to be any real reason for concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, he may be completely terrified of Witchers, but this one isn’t hard to look at. He’d never imagined the creatures from his nightmares as a child being so attractive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he would never pursue anything knowing the Butcher of Blaviken would guiltlessly gut him if he discovered that Jaskier wasn’t quite human, but it doesn’t hurt to look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s just got to be careful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_______</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Catching up with the Witcher is a bit harder than he’d like it to be. The man had already walked off with his horse after the devil he'd been sent to kill by the time Jaskier had gotten back down to the front of the inn. The bard was forced to run after him, and catching up with someone as fast as a Witcher on his little, dreadfully out of shape bard legs is a bit tricky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffs as he finally reaches Geralt, slowing his pace slightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Need a hand? I’ve got two!” he breathes, ignoring the spike in nerves he feels when he sees the Witcher “One for each of the devil’s horns.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A good sales pitch if he’s ever made one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, so the Witcher wants to play at the whole, gruff, I work alone bit. Fine then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t be but silent back-up,” he promises, waving his hands around nervously as he talks. He always has talked with his hands a bit too much. Nerves just serve to worsen the habit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Witcher doesn’t reply and Jaskier ignores the compulsion to fidget.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I heard your note, and yes, you’re right, maybe, real adventures would make for better stories. And you, sir, smell chock-full of them… Amongst other things, I mean what is that” he scrunches up his face a bit, “Onion?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He brushes that aside and goes back to rambling “It doesn’t matter, whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny.” he lets a bit of wistfulness seep into his voice “Heroics and heartbreak.” He longs for the adventures that are bound to come along if he follows this Witcher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s onion,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh! A joke!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier grins, a surprised laugh escaping him “Right, yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a very brief moment of silence before he exclaims, “Ooh! I could be your barker! Spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia” he goes on excitedly “the- the” the tries to remember what Valdo had called him years ago, “The Butcher of Blaviken.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Witcher stops and Jaskier tilts his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps forward in confusion, “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then pain blossoms in his gut. He curls over with a loud exclamation of surprise, stumbling back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Panic blinds him. Had he somehow revealed something? Had the Witcher known all along? Just waiting to get him alone. God why was he so stupid, he should’ve just run in the other direction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He staggers around a bit, trying to find his footing so he can run, but he can’t regain his balance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart races like a rabbit cornered by wolves and he draws in gasping breaths as his body hits the ground with a small thud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He curls into a shaky ball, bringing his hands up as if to beg to be spared. All his words seem stuck in the back of his throat and he just lays there for a long few moments, waiting for the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, to strike him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing happens though and he sits back up in confusion, moaning blearily. The Witcher is walking away from him, not towards him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighs in relief and fumbles back onto his feet. So the Witcher hadn’t been trying to murder him, just expressing his annoyance? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hoo, hoo!” he cries from the ground, stumbling back into a standing position and shaking off the pain in his gut. He gasps a bit as he starts forward, but tries to remain chipper. He clears his mind of the panic he’d been feeling and hurries awkwardly to catch back up with the Witcher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Must’ve been something to do with that nickname. Thinking about it now, it’s not a very pleasant one, so fair enough. Could’ve just said so, or at least held a bit of that big old Witcher strength back though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well note taken. No calling Geralt anything related to Butcher or mentioning the town of Blaviken. It’s a bit of a shit-hole so it’s not as if it’ll be hard. He rubs at his stomach a bit as he walks, frowning at the leftover ache.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had he ever been punched before? Unless you count being spanked or hit by rulers in his youth, he doesn’t think so. He’d rather not repeat the experience; it’s not a very pleasant one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not that Geralt can get rid of him that easily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s already decided to risk his very existence for a taste of excitement and adventures to write his songs about, and dammit he’s going to, even if Geralt doesn’t appreciate his lovely company. A few punches to the gut aren’t going to make him change his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s lost the bloody Witcher again while he was trying to catch his breath though and has to practically run after the man this time, and when he catches up he finds Geralt has actually mounted his horse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He begins rambling again the moment he’s close enough for the Witcher to hear him. He starts to list all the reasons Geralt really should let him come along through panting breaths. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>What’s the harm? Really he’s doing the Witcher a favor. He could use an improved reputation and Jaskier can give that to him. He is a very talented musician, he just needs something to write about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He comes up with some nonsense new name for the man and everything. No more of that “Butcher of Blaviken” stuff the Witcher so clearly disapproved of. He can make him the “White Wolf,” which Jaskier thinks is a brilliant and very noble-sounding title. It’s properly threatening and it matches the fancy necklace Geralt’s wearing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Really, he should be begging Jaskier to follow after him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Butcher is right.” Geralt huffs and Jaskier gives him a confused look. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Well, then what the hell was all that punching business about? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt speeds up a bit in what is a clear gesture telling Jaskier to fuck off, which Jaskier stubbornly ignores, just speeding up himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s coming along, it’s been decided. Geralt has lost his ability to have a say in this matter. Unless he kills him of course, but that’s a bridge that will be crossed when they get there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s starting to regret his choice in footwear though. He probably should’ve gotten something a bit more practical for long walks, but usually, when he’s traveling alone he can easily magic away any unfortunate pain or blisters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure if Witchers can sense when someone is doing magic though. He’s certainly not willing to throw it all to the wind and reveal that he’s- well whatever he is- to heal a minor blister. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does attempt to get a ride on the Witchers horse with him, but he’s immediately snapped at. “Don’t touch Roach!” Frankly, a terrible name for a horse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But at least he doesn’t get punched again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the Witcher suddenly stops and hops down from his horse Jaskier stares at him warily. Maybe he is getting punched again after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, the Witcher just starts tying his horse to a tree. Jaskier starts rambling about some interesting facts he’d learned about this area back in Oxenfurt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you know the elves called this Dol Blathanna before bequeathing it to the humans and retreating to their golden palaces in the mountains?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His geography professor had been very bitter over this and when Jaskier had mentioned it to Valdo one evening when they were still living together in the fall of his second year, the man had been similarly hateful towards elves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hadn’t known much about elves before then. They were so rarely mentioned in any capacity around him before he came to Oxenfurt. Valdo seemed to know a lot about them though. They were selfish creatures who had everything they could ever want and still took from humans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Valdo had firmly believed Elves should be wiped from the continent completely. He’d told Jaskier Elves were unnatural and no different from the monsters that lurk in the woods at night. Like Drowners but crueler and smarter, which made them much more dangerous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hates to agree with Valdo on anything, but he understands that humanity would be better off if all monsters went off and died. That includes elves just as much as it includes himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook such dark thoughts off, “There I go again, just delivering exposition.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt starts walking forward and Jaskier chases after him, glancing back at his still tied up horse in confusion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He keeps talking, even though the Witcher clearly doesn’t appreciate his ongoing commentary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he really wanted him to stop, Jaskier thinks, he should stop responding to the rubbish pouring out of his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He learns lots of useful information from Geralt though. Such as the fact that devils don’t exist, even though they’ve very been hired to hunt after one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their lovely talk is interrupted by a strange tiny cannonball being fired at Geralt and a devil rising out of the bushes ominously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh!” Jaskier whispers, taking a few steps back. “Geralt, there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a devil.” he breathes out excitedly. He’s going to learn about a creature even Witchers haven’t heard of before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then there’s a sharp pain and the world goes dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>_______</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wakes up tied to a struggling Geralt in a cave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lovely. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is the part where we escape,” he says, looking around the dark cave. Geralt’s weapons and his precious lute have been shoved off to the side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is the part where they kill us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes in a sharp breath. Well, who would’ve thought that instead of dying at the hands of a Witcher he’d be dying alongside one at the hands of- well hold on,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who’s they?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then he’s being kicked right in the face by a strange woman with pointy ears who calls him a “Beast.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck? Can they tell he’s not human then? His heart stutters in his gut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Elves” the Witcher hisses as if Jaskier can’t see the very pointy ears quite clearly. He’s a bit distracted by another one of them taking his lute and messing with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oi!” he cries desperately, “That’s my lute! Give it back!” a sense of desperateness curls up in him, “Quick Geralt! Do your-your Witchering.” as if the man has any more power in this particular situation than him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” the Witcher yells, and that’s fair but someone has to stop the elves before one of them damages his treasured instrument. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s just not fair. That lute is everything he has. It’s the only thing that’s given him comfort throughout his life. It was there when he was trapped in a home full of people who didn’t love him and it was there when he was kicked out. It was at his side through his greatest highs and his greatest lows. He had held it tight when Valdo had broken his heart and he’d used it to get the dick to fuck off. It’s how he channels his more powerful magic, and it’s the only thing that brings him joy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>These elves already have everything they could possibly want. Why do they need the only thing he truly cares for? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the elven women kicks Geralt this time and hisses, “No you shut up,” though it sounds strange. Jaskier figures it’s just the accent and he hisses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell him what to do you fucking cunt,” he bites out angrily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to die right now?” the woman asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is about to say no when Geralt cuts in “As opposed to later?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman rears back to kick and his eyes widen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No please! Not the lu-” he’s cut off by a rather sad noise coming from his instrument. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Leave off! He’s just a bard.” Geralt yells, and Jaskier is honestly a bit touched that the Witcher’s defending him, but all he can do is watch his lute in horror. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t deserve the air you breathe.” the woman growls as she hits Geralt, “Everything you touch you destroy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ironic coming from the ones destroying his prized lute. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if his very thought reminds the elves of the instrument, one of them finally snaps it in half, and Jaskier moans. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, that certainly can’t be fixed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slumps a bit despondently. He really has nothing now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elf behind him is still beating Geralt and Jaskier can’t help but sneer, blinking back tears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You- You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seems that Valdo hadn’t been too harsh on these creatures when he’d said they deserved to be wiped from existence. Even a dick like him can be right about some things Jaskier supposes as he glares at the woman. These are just monsters who take pleasure in hurting people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you like my palaces? Hmm?” she walks around so he can no longer see her, “Does it live up to the tales you humans tell?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hears the sound of skin hitting skin, and the woman cries out, falling back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs with a grin, “Yeah, take that pointy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman starts coughing heavily, gagging as she tries to take in desperate breaths. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hesitates, “Wait, what’s wrong with her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s sick.” comes a new voice as an elven man enters alongside the devil from earlier. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he grunts, “Who’s this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The devil glares at him, “He is Filavadrel, King of Elves.” he spits as he follows the supposed king to go check on the coughing woman.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a king. Not by choice.” the man corrects and Jaskier watches in confusion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “You were stealing for them.” Geralt realizes and Jaskier feels lost. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why? Why are these elves living in a dirty cave, sending their sick in to interrogate prisoners? Why would they need this strange creature to steal for them?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s baffling. He thought elves had it all, going off to enjoy their bounties of wealth while abandoning humans to live in suffering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Balthanna”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that doesn’t make sense. Jaskier’s head spins. The elves gave up Dol Balthanna? Elves are- they weren’t meant to be any better than a common monster. They aren’t human. Those that aren’t human have to be monsters. They have to be, or that means it’s not what he is that’s caused everyone to leave him, but who he is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Forced out, no they chose-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The king rounds on him and meets his eyes “Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their home? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks of long lonely nights with nothing but whatever fruit he has the energy to conjure up for himself to soothe the ache in his gut on the road as he pushes any hint of homesickness from his heart and bites his lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The king stares into his eyes for a few more moments, and seems to study them, a bit of confusion making its way onto his face. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier tears his gaze away and Filavadrel turns to the sick woman on the ground. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The bard’s heart clenches as he listens to them talk. Why had countless elves died? Why hadn’t he learned of this at school? He’d taken many history courses and nothing to do with elves dying at the hands of humans had been mentioned in recent history. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But… so many of their cities were mentioned to have been built on previously elven cities. Cities they had supposedly given up for seemingly no reason. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt and the king start talking about some nonsense. Geralt keeps going on about “the lesser evil” and Jaskier can’t find it in himself to focus. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s always thought anything inhuman was inherently bad. He’d always thought he had to be bad. But these elves… they’ve suffered at the hands of humans, but they don’t act like monsters, not really. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, they’d broken his lute, but as he mulls over what’s happened, he finally understands. If their stories are true, people who look just like him have slaughtered their loved ones, and they do seem to make more sense than what he’d been told. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Golden palaces? How had he even believed that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s still angry, but the more he thinks about it all the more his frustration seeps away and guilt worms its way into his chest, squeezing it tight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even the creature who looks like a devil is intelligent and had enough kindness to risk himself stealing for these- these refugees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>These people are suffering, and it’s the humans that have acted like monsters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is glad to not be fully human for the first time in his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt and Filavadrel are ranting back and forth and Jaskier tries to concentrate on what they’re saying, pushing away the shock at the fact that non-human creatures are even possible of not being monsters who deserve to be put down immediately. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Filavadrel is seething “because they’ve pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt goes to say something but Jaskier can’t help but ask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was chaos not always-” all eyes turn to him and he can feel Geralt’s irritation even though he can’t see him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I just- was chaos not always so- ah what’s a good word?” he trails off, unable to find a proper descriptor for the energy he constantly hears about when he looks into magic, but cannot help but find foreign.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The king is behind him, so Jaskier can’t see him, but he can hear in his voice that the elf is confused. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. It was once pure and clean energy. Nothing someone like you would understand.” Filavadrel spits harshly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, I was just curious. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Chaos is the same as it has always been.” Geralt interrupts, “Humans just adapted better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You say adapt. I say destroy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How was chaos destroyed? Can chaos even be destroyed?” Jaskier’s face scrunches up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel takes a deep breath and Geralt pushes against his back roughly in what is clearly an attempt to elbow him that was prevented by the ropes that bind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you so curious bard?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shrugs awkwardly, “Well that just sounds like a pretty big problem. Isn’t chaos the thing that binds the universe together? If it’s being destroyed that seems like a rather large issue.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel scoffs at that, “And what do you suggest we do about it, Bard? It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>people who are doing the destroying.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier can feel the elf’s glare coming from behind and squirms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your kind takes and takes and takes from chaos, using it in ways it should never have been used. You’ve dirtied magic itself and killed all the elven mages who could’ve restored it” there’s a slightly choked off sound from the king, “You humans just take and take and now chaos takes back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows and nods. Despite his magical prowess, the idea of chaos is elusive to him, but the idea of all Elven mages being dead… well he can’t help but grit his teeth in anger at the very idea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt interrupts again, “Chaos. is. the. Same.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel sneers and the Witcher continues. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You are choosing to starve. You’re cutting off your ear to spite your face” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Insulting the man who wants you dead is certainly an interesting tactic Jaskier thinks, but honestly, it’s better than him. Making stupid and ignorant statements when he hadn’t been properly educated on elven history at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You think this is about pride?” Filavadrel is outraged “My elders worked with humans and they got robbed of all they had. And when they fought back, they were slaughtered.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel gets a bit choked up again, “The Great-Cleansing, humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s heart clenches again at that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel goes on, going into great detail how humanity has wronged these elves in every possible way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is disgusted. Each time he feels that he can’t possibly be more horrified by what’s happened to the elves, something new reveals himself and he feels even more sick to his stomach.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wish to bury anyone else,” the elf admits, “I was once Filavadrel of silver towers. Now I’m Filavadrel of the edge of the world.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a pause before the elf continues to explain why he and his people must stay here. Geralt insists that the elves move on to somewhere else. Somewhere where they can rebuild and gain their strength again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Jaskier hears a blade being drawn and braces himself. What a way to die. He hasn’t even gotten to see the world yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders distantly if his magic can protect him from being stabbed while fully bound. He kind of doubts it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the Sylvan comes to their aid, defending them. Filavadrel seems to pause, and Jaskier thanks the heavens. He is sorry for what’s happened to the elves but he doesn’t want to die. He really doesn’t want to die. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Geralt, the absolute loon, practically invites them to kill them both.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel shuffles around a bit and Jaskier clenches his teeth, sure that this is it. He closes his eyes and doesn’t even try to prevent the tears that gather in the corners. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will anyone even miss him? He doesn’t think so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But no final blow comes, he sits there, tensed for a few moments, and then finally opens his eyes. That’s when he notices their bindings are cut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sits there, completely frozen in shock, as Geralt speaks with the elves. He hears the Witcher giving them the coin he’d been given for the ‘devil’ contract and Jaskier still just sits there, adrenaline slowly draining from his body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been so sure that was it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the pounding in his ears fades to a low hum, he slumps forward and heaves a sigh of relief. His energy feels sapped, but he crawls forward to take his destroyed lute gingerly in his hands anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An acute feeling of loss pierces his heart as he looks at it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not fixable, that’s certain, and that hurts. Aches even. It has been all he’s had for so long. It’ll need to be disposed of now and replaced; he tries to ignore the way his heart clenches at the very thought. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reminds himself that these elves have lost real loved ones. There’s no use sitting around crying over a dusty old instrument he’d found years ago. His colleagues at Oxenfurt have been begging him to replace the thing for years anyways. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He still feels all twisted up inside at the sight of his beloved instrument so mangled. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walks over to Geralt and tries to stand behind him enough to not draw attention to himself while also trying not to look like a scared child hiding behind their parents.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure it’s quite working on either front. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel suddenly looks at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bard, I would like to speak with you.” he gestures for Jaskier to follow and drags him over to the far corner of the cave. Jaskier can’t help but note that they’re just out of ear-shot of the rest of the group.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His heart pounds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe the king is going to execute him after all. Geralt may have proven himself worthy of being spared but he’s proven himself to be nothing but a bumbling fool. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There is something about you.” the elf says thoughtfully, “I can’t place it… but you don’t seem to be like anyone I’ve ever met.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks and then smiles hesitantly, “I’ve no clue what you could mean dear Filavadrel, but I must say I have found this experience quite illuminating on many fronts. I’ve certainly been blind to the truth,” he gestures around the gloomy cave “regarding your people.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shuffles his feet, “I’m deeply sorry for my ignorant words earlier. I considered my education to be fully devoid of bias but… It seems that was not so. I will be much more skeptical in the future when it comes to these things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel brushes him off, his voice a bit distant as if his mind is elsewhere “I’m glad but, there is something about you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man stares at him in silence for a long time, and Jaskier’s eyes dart around uncomfortably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re very curious about magic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier chews on the inside of his mouth and makes a strangled noise, “Yes,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elf continues to look at him, as if assessing his very soul, “If I knew more I might tell you, but I was a simple peasant before the cleansing. I was never even so much as in the presence of any of our mages. I can tell you with certainty that they had power human sorcerers can only dream of though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier listens raptly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even as an elf with no particular ties to magic I can sense very basic magic. We’re much more deeply and instinctively connected to chaos- it’s why our mages were so much stronger than humans.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier goes to ask about that but Filavadrel continues. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s why even I can sense something strange about you.” he breaks off and glances down at the lute in Jaskiers hands “It’s also how I can tell how important your instrument was to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks, “What does my lute have to do with magic?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel shrugs, “I can’t quite explain it, but it’s as if your very energy is ingrained in this.” the elf reaches forward and brushes a hand across the splintering wood, “It feels like an extension of you. The energy I feel from you, however strange it is, is instilled in the lute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks, “Oh, I’m not…” he trails off, not really sure what to say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, regardless, I can tell you had a deep bond with this instrument, for reasons that go beyond a love of music. I apologize for its untimely fate.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head, “This is nothing compared to what-” he hesitates “my people have done to yours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seems wrong, the words fall off his tongue uncomfortably. He isn’t human, not really. He’s not sure what he is, but human is only half of it. Humans are not his people, at least not fully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Filavadrel shakes his head, “Just because your people have done wrong by us does not mean we should treat you poorly when there is no reason. We have done you a disservice by breaking something so important to you,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier goes to say something else but Filavadrel holds up a hand to stop him before turning away and ducking into a deeper section of the cave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bard stands there, glancing around. Geralt is just waiting for him now, but he’s not sure if he should just go or…?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Filavadrel comes back after a moment, with an absolutely gorgeous lute in his hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He passes it over to Jaskier, who gingerly places the remains of his old instrument on the ground to take the new one into his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he breathes out, running a hand over the intricate designs. The craftsmanship on this is divine, better than anything he’s ever seen in fact. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t take this,” he gestures at the wooden heap at his feet, “that lute wasn’t anything special. It was just something I found in storage as a child. It was practically garbage… This is- it’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen before.” he rambles and Filavadrel cuts him off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your lute may not have been special objectively, but it was important to you. I can see that clearly.” the elf turns and gestures for his people to follow, “I insist that you take it, bard. And if you wish to repay me, sing about us. Make sure all that listen think we’re dead, so that we may move and start again somewhere new.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods breathlessly, watching in awe and the elves and Sylvan disappear back into the caves they’ve been calling home, likely to gather the rest of the refugees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks down at his broken lute, and back to the new one in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels momentous. Maybe he’s being dramatic, but he is a bard so he feels entitled to a bit of melodrama, at least in his head and he can’t help but see this as something akin to a rebirth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His old lute was one found and owned by a naive child, terrified of his own shadow, and unsure of how to make his way in the world. It was what had carried him through childhood into adulthood. It gave him hope when there was none anywhere else in his life. It gave him passion and love and had eventually allowed him to pursue an education. He forged his very identity in those strings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had carried him through both many sorrows and triumphs, but how it’s destroyed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This new lute is a blank slate. It has no memories attached to it yet, but he will make them. He wants to see the world with this lute and carve his place into it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs his fingers over it and then looks down one last time at his childhood instrument. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leans down and breaks off a small piece of wood from it, clenching it in his fist and pocketing it as he goes to meet with Geralt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can't help but want to carry this small part of childhood with him, as a reminder of where he'd come from. As a reminder of who he’s been. As a reminder of what he is and even as a reminder of what that’s cost him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He and Geralt leave together, and Jaskier thinks he must have at least endeared himself enough to the Witcher that he’ll be allowed to trail after him on his adventures. And he does plan on doing so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure the entire elves almost killing us thing might have been terrifying, but it was the most excitement Jaskier’s had in his entire life. No way is he giving that up just to go back to running around and getting bread thrown at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He assumes after this wonderful bonding experience, that Geralt will not just tolerate, but welcome his lovely company (so long as he doesn’t find out that Jaskier is a monster, but that’s an issue for another, future Jaskier).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But not halfway back to Posada, the Witcher starts trying to claim they should part ways? For good?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now, Jaskier might be a changed man, with more respect for those he’s heard negative things about and more skepticism towards the things he’s learned from humans, but he doubts he’ll ever change enough to start listening when people tell him what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I promised I’d change the public tune about you. At least allow me to try.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not actually up for debate. Jaskier’s following Geralt around now whether he likes it or not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tugs his new lute around his shoulder and strums a few chords, trying a few things out. It truly is a wonderful instrument. The sound quality is much better than his old one. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>A grin breaks out across his face as an idea pops in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When a humble bard… ”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And with that, “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” is born. The perfect song for taverns. It’s catchy and full of adventure and action. Plus it’s bound to improve the general public’s opinion about Geralt and firmly establishes the elves to be out of the picture- just as Filavadrel had asked him to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt objects of course, “That’s not how it happened. Where’s your newfound respect?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ah yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>brilliant</span>
  </em>
  <span> plan Geralt, he thinks, I’ll just sing a song telling the elf-hating public exactly where their enemies have been hiding and reveal what their plan is moving forward. That would work out </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Respect doesn’t make history,” he says simply, with a little shrug. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He goes forward again, resuming the song cheerfully. Geralt hangs back for a few moments, and Jaskier hopes the Witcher’s enjoy the view of his lovely backside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Really, a bard doesn’t get anywhere without a good ass, and Jaskier’s is near perfect.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the grouch follows after him, still refusing to let Jaskier join him on his horse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, Jaskier thinks, they’ve got time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Feelings Blossom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier and Geralt continue to travel together over the years, and Jaskier can't help but get closer to the witcher.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter took a while! But, in my defense, it's very long! I also got commissioned to crochet someone a Toph from Avatar, so I was busy with that, but she's done now and shipped out :) so I have some more free time again.<br/>I hope you all enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it, because it was a blast to write ngl. </p><p>TRIGGER WARNING!!!:  Vague depictions of medical procedures and injuries :) Pretty canon-typical stuff, but still thought I should warn everyone :)</p><p>This fic is beta read by @imaginary.indigo &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The relief and joy Jaskier feels when he catches sight of the inn on the horizon is beyond all comparison. He could try to craft elaborate metaphors in his head for how overwhelmingly, soul-crushingly glad he is to see shelter, but nothing could ever hope to capture the feeling thoroughly enough to satisfy him. </p><p> </p><p>He and Geralt have been on the road for a little over two weeks straight now without running into any towns, and usually, that wouldn’t be an issue. He’s been traveling with Geralt for months now, and this is hardly the longest stint they’ve gone between stays at inns. If not for the witcher’s love for baths, Jaskier would honestly think Geralt hated inns. The man seems to avoid them as if they’re the plaque some days. Not that Jaskier minds for the most part. </p><p><br/>He has no issues with being out in nature, and all the exciting adventures he gets to be a part of more than make up for the lack of finer luxuries his and Geralt’s current lifestyle permits.</p><p> </p><p>This particular trip though has been, to put it lightly, exhausting. </p><p> </p><p>Winter is approaching fast and soon Jaskier will be splitting off from Geralt to head to Oxenfurt. They’ve been ‘coincidentally’ traveling in that direction ever since Jaskier off-handedly mentioned that he winters there. The cold is becoming more and more biting each day, and the chill that seeps in each night more pronounced, which is especially uncomfortable because his coat had been, well, stolen is probably the most accurate way to describe what had happened.</p><p> </p><p>His boots were also stolen, and despite Geralt generously allowing him to have turns riding on Roach (proof that the witcher cares!), his feet absolutely ache. </p><p> </p><p>He and Geralt had been traveling through swamps just after leaving the last village they’d stayed in, and had happened across a rather scrawny teenager being attacked by a monster Geralt had later informed him was called a water hag. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt, being the selfless son of a bitch that he is, had swooped in immediately and taken care of the water hag with striking precision. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier doesn’t think it should be beautiful to watch a man cut down a hideous monster, but the grace with which Geralt moves when he fights is undeniably attractive. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt had offered to escort the boy to the next town over, since he and Jaskier were already headed that way anyway, and the kid had timidly accepted the offer. </p><p> </p><p>Then the moment the witcher had gone off to hunt for dinner, the boy pulled a small dagger on a rather unimpressed Jaskier. </p><p> </p><p>He could’ve very easily done a number of things to get out of the frankly ill-planned robbery. Magically disarmed the kid, yelled for Geralt (who undoubtedly would’ve heard him thanks to his fancy, enhanced, witcher ears), honestly with how shaky the lad looked Jaskier probably could have beaten him in a good old fashioned fight. </p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t have been hard to wrangle the weapon away from him considering how inexperienced the kid’s grip looks on it, and Jaskier did take a few self-defense classes back at Oxenfurt. He hadn’t wanted to get mugged the moment he stepped out on the road after all. </p><p> </p><p>But he’d looked hard at the boy, taking in how thin he looked, how the soles of his shoes were too worn to provide much of any support or protection and one had come apart from the shoe completely, and how he trembled just slightly, clearly cold and lacking any coat, or any layers at all. He met the boy’s eyes and saw hunger and desperateness that reminded him of his teen years. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier was struck then, by just how hungry and cold he would’ve been then, had he not had magic to create food and warm himself with. He could have been this boy, desperate and half-starved if he’d been just a little less lucky- and he’d never thought of his magic as making him lucky before now, but it was in many ways now that he’s considering it. Considering how much more painful making it on his own would have been if he was as normal as the boy- the child in front of him now. It was difficult enough even with all the power he holds at his fingertips.</p><p> </p><p>He gave the boy his boots and coat and a moderate amount of his and Geralt’s rations, and the kid had scampered off. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt had chastised him for letting himself be robbed by a child when he’d gotten back, but Jaskier knows the big grouch doesn’t mean anything by it. Geralt looked more upset over the fact that Jaskier had gotten a dagger pulled on him than anything, even as the bard assured him that he was okay.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the trip is miserable, especially while they were still in the swampy areas. But even when they’ve reached more solid ground Jaskier still found himself cold and miserable. The temptation to use magic around Geralt has never been stronger than it had been throughout that harrowing journey. He could so easily have just, soothed the ache in his feet a bit, and warmed himself up properly. It would just be a flick of the wrist and all his discomfort could go away but he gritted his teeth and trudged his way along. </p><p> </p><p>He won’t lie, he’d been nearly as grumpy as Geralt throughout the whole trip. </p><p> </p><p>He still doesn’t regret his decision to give up his belongings though. Not even once. He’ll be fine without them and can easily replace them with the coin he makes from performing. That kid clearly needed them, to risk robbing the companion of a witcher. </p><p> </p><p>But god, when his eyes land on that inn, he thinks he might fall to the ground from happiness. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank the gods, real shelter at last!” he exclaims, a bit of song seeping into his voice for the first time in days, “I’m not sure if I’m more excited for the warm meal or the warm bed. Maybe just the warmth in general.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hums and gets down from Roach. </p><p> </p><p>“And oh” he sighs just thinking about it, “The warm bath Geralt- just imagine it. I need all this swamp gunk off me. It’s still in my hair, sullying all these beautiful locks. It’s tragic really how filthy I am right now- I might be mistaken for you if we keep going at this rate.”</p><p> </p><p>This earns him a glare.</p><p> </p><p>The town they’ve arrived in isn’t terribly small, though it’s not big either. Jaskier thinks it’s probably just big enough to have someone he can purchase some new boots and a coat from at the very least though, and that’s all he cares about at this very moment. </p><p> </p><p>The inn itself is about the size you would expect of a town like this. It looks like it can house a decent amount of travelers. It’s late enough that the tavern is so rowdy that the excitement can be heard from outside as they approach the door. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier can’t help the small moan he gives as he steps inside, warmth enveloping him in a way that’s evaded him these last few days. God, how did people live before boots?</p><p> </p><p>He’s caught up enough in his relief at the warmth that he doesn’t notice the hush that falls over the building as they stumble in, and the way Geralt immediately tenses up at his side. </p><p> </p><p>He’s not too caught up in himself, however, to not notice when the innkeeper grunts “Your kind’s not welcome here.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier blinks, “What?” and for a long moment, he thinks the innkeeper is talking to him. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t want any trouble,” Geralt murmurs, and the way he’s slightly drawn into himself would probably be unnoticeable to most, but over the last several months Jaskier has started to pick up on a lot of Geralt’s subtle little mannerisms. His heart clenches at how wrong it looks. </p><p> </p><p>It’s not as if Jaskier hasn’t witnessed just how deeply people’s hatred of witcher goes by now, he’s been traveling with Geralt for months and he’s witnessed many of the ways people regularly express their distaste towards witchers. </p><p> </p><p>Pelting them with rocks as they walk along, picking fights in bars, cursing at them, and whatever else these people can think up to let Geralt know just how much they hate him for existing.</p><p> </p><p>He’s seen it before, and he’ll definitely see it again if he continues to trail after Geralt everywhere he goes, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to stand for it. He bristles and goes to say something, but Geralt beats him to it. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go, but let the bard buy a room.”</p><p> </p><p>Oh. </p><p> </p><p>His mouth goes dry and he feels as if someone’s knocked the air right out of him. It’s not as if it’s any news to him that Geralt is a big softie deep down, but to so blatantly place Jaskier’s needs ahead of his own- fuck. </p><p> </p><p>It’s maybe the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it makes him swell with pride as the realization that this means Geralt cares for him much more than he’s willing to admit (which he already suspected, but they haven’t known each other all that long, and he didn’t want to be too presumptuous.)</p><p> </p><p>It’s a kind gesture, but Jaskier absolutely cannot let Geralt do it. </p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely not!” he scoffs, “You’ll give us both a room or we won’t be buying one at all.” </p><p> </p><p>The innkeeper turns away, “Then get out.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier gives him a toothy grin, “My good sir, surely you know who I am?” The innkeeper doesn’t respond, so Jaskier continues. </p><p> </p><p>“Even a backwater town like this must have heard of the great bard Jaskier and his famous traveling companion Geralt of Rivia? I’m very popular, you know? Can get a crowd in the proper mood to buy your stock” he tips his head over towards the liquor lining the walls behind the counter, “before you even know what’s happening.”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s not even that much of an exaggeration! Toss a Coin and his other Geralt inspired songs have really caught on since they started traveling together, and Jaskier has found himself being recognized more and more frequently.</p><p> </p><p>“Never heard of you.” the innkeeper huffs, still facing away from them.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier clasps his hands together, a look of fake cheerfulness on his face. “Well, I’m sure if you let me give a demonstration of my bardic talent you would be begging us both to stay! A free performance by someone as famous as I am isn’t something you’re offered every day.”</p><p> </p><p>The innkeeper finally turns to face them and growls, “We aren’t interested in hearin’ some mutant-fucking bastard sing. Get out o’ my inn before I make you.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier lets the cheerful facade fall from his face, his strained smile morphing into a slight snarl, “Now listen here, we haven’t done anything to deserve this sort of treatment-” </p><p> </p><p>The innkeeper fires right back, “The mutant’s existence is enough.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier tenses, his eyes fiery and his fists clenched. He knows that some people hate Witchers, and he knows that getting pissed about it isn’t going to change anyone’s minds, but fuck, it’ll make him feel better. Geralt hasn’t even done anything to these people! Jaskier thinks a little anger is more than deserved in this situation.</p><p> </p><p>Actually, he thinks a little more than anger is deserved. He clenches his fist and bares his teeth in a snarl, his stance shifting to become more aggressive. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt grabs his shoulder and stares him in the eyes, silently communicating to Jaskier that he can tell he’s rearing up for a fight, and he doesn’t approve.</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, “Ugh, fine Geralt. You’re no fun.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt huffs a small laugh and Jaskier can’t help but smile back a little, though he’s still absolutely enraged at the gall of these people to treat them so harshly for no good reason. </p><p> </p><p>They are stupid to be so threatened by Geralt. He’d never hurt them. Jaskier on the other hand, is a different story. He’d gladly pick a fight with every prick in this poor excuse for a tavern, and even if he lost he’d get in a few good swings.  </p><p> </p><p>But Geralt doesn’t want him to, and he won’t go against his wishes, at least on this. Besides, they’re far too good to grace an inn like this with their presence anyways.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” he flips the innkeeper off with a sneer, “It was so nice meeting you, I deeply hope you never have any monster problems here because we certainly won’t be returning.” </p><p> </p><p>The man bristles, but before anything can happen, Geralt drags Jaskier outside, back into the cold night. </p><p> </p><p>“Why’d you do that,” Geralt rumbles the moment they’re alone and Jaskier’s face scrunches up. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p> </p><p>“They would’ve let you stay. I would’ve been fine.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier scoffs at that, “As if I would stay somewhere where you aren’t welcome. We’re traveling companions now after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not as if I don’t sleep outside nearly every day,” Geralt glares. </p><p> </p><p>“Well so do I? Besides, it’s the principle of the matter. What kind of friend would I be if I stayed somewhere after they were so cruel to you? A shit one at the very least.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s never called Geralt his friend before now, but what other word is there for it? They travel together, room together when coin is low, share their food. Geralt lets Jaskier ramble non-stop, and even occasionally replies to him. What could they be other than friends?</p><p> </p><p>Geralt gives him a long look, and Jaskier can’t help but feel as if his very soul is being judged. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, the witcher huffs and turns away. </p><p> </p><p>“We’re not friends.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier can tell Geralt’s heart isn’t in that and he just smiles.</p><p> </p><p>They start walking, Geralt leading Roach along, away from the village, but only just far enough so to make camp. They’ll have to stop back by in the morning so Jaskier can replace his stuff.  </p><p> </p><p>As they walk, Geralt turns to him, breaking the comfortable silence that’s settled between them “It was still stupid,”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier frowns, “No-” but Geralt interrupts. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m turned away from Inns all the time, Jaskier. That’s the life of a witcher. I don’t need you tagging along out of some sense of loyalty.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier puffs up at that, “That’s not it. That man was so prejudiced he couldn’t even be reasoned with. I’m not going to give someone like that our coin, even if it means sleeping outside one more night. It’s not even that big of a deal. We’ve been sleeping outside for weeks now, how is tonight any different?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re cold. You haven’t been sleeping well this whole trip and you’re human. Fragile. You need to take better care of yourself.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier tenses a bit at that, the reminder that Geralt doesn’t know of his status as “halfway not human” rounding on him like a punch to the gut. </p><p> </p><p>God, sometimes he forgets that he’s not a proper human. That he’s a monster of sorts (though ever since his encounter with the elves he wonders sometimes). </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes he forgets that Geralt might kill him. It’s so easy to let all his fears and worries fade to the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to be afraid of Geralt… </p><p> </p><p>The fear is there though. Jaskier doesn’t want to die. Geralt very well could want him dead if he turns out to be some terrible, human-eating, murderous creature. </p><p> </p><p>Sure, he’s never felt compelled to kill and eat anyone- but for all he knows he just hasn’t hit monster puberty yet!</p><p> </p><p>“Ah well-” his voice is slightly shaky and he clears his throat “It’s just one more night, and then I can replace my shoes and coat in town. Then I’ll be right as rain.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt looks away, “I’ll replace them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why? I’m the one who let us get robbed.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, “Shouldn’t have left you alone with the kid like that. I’m…” he trails off, and Jaskier gives him an expectant look. “You’re human. I should’ve protected you.”</p><p> </p><p>For the second time that night, Jaskier feels like his heart has been dropped out from under him. “Oh, that’s” he doesn’t know what to say. Guilt bubbles up in him at the idea that Geralt seems to feel responsible for his misery over these last few weeks. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt seems to interpret his response as something bad, as he turns to glare at the ground harshly, a deeper frown than usual marring his face. Knowing the dramatic oaf, Jaskier suspects Geralt thinks he’s concluded that it <em> is </em> the witcher’s fault that he was robbed.  </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier reaches forward and grabs the witcher’s wrist. </p><p> </p><p>He’s always been a very physical person, though he tones it back with Geralt out of fear of making the man uncomfortable. He forgets himself now though, wanting to comfort the man he’s starting to see as his closest friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt, it was entirely my fault, okay. I honestly could’ve easily fought that kid, he barely even knew how to hold that knife, and believe it or not, I’m not completely useless. I just felt bad for him. He remi-” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. No need to make the tense air even more depressing by rambling about how the kid reminded him of his own fucked up childhood. </p><p> </p><p>With a shake of his head he continues, “I gave him my stuff willingly, is what I’m trying to say.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt is giving him an incredulous look and Jaskier smiles sheepishly. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re something else bard.” the Witcher huffs after a while, amusement creeping into his previously sour expression. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier shrugs, “Well, you’re hardly one to talk. How much coin did you turn down after that last contract on the Cockatrice? Certainly enough to buy a coat and some boots. You’re just as much of a sap as I am deep down.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier of course greatly respects Geralt’s decision to refuse payment on that contract. The images of the hungry family offering up the last of their coin, despite knowing that they would surely starve without it, was heart-wrenching. If Geralt had taken that coin Jaskier would’ve been horrified. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt scowls at that, but they fall back into their usual banter easily as they set up camp, and finally settle in for the night. </p><p> </p><p>Their routine is the same, but Jaskier can’t help but feel like something in their dynamic has shifted. Like Geralt is just the slightest bit more open to his continued presence, and just a little bit less scowly towards him in general. </p><p> </p><p>He can’t put it into words, and maybe he’s just reading too much into things, but they feel closer now, and he can’t help but be glad. He can’t help but want to be as close to Geralt as the witcher will let him be, even if he’s one of the monsters the man is consistently put in charge of hunting.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not as if Geralt ever needs to know. </p><p> </p><p>________</p><p>
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</p><p>Jaskier hadn’t been sure if he and Geralt would ever see each other again after they’d parted ways for the winter. He’d been almost certain it would at least be a long while before they ran into each other again at the very least. The continent was no small place after all. </p><p> </p><p>He’d been busy enough with teaching classes that he hadn’t bothered to decide how he felt about that, and that was partially intentional. He surrounded himself with work all winter. When he wasn’t teaching, he was composing, and when he wasn’t composing, he was playing in local taverns or competing in nearby competitions(all of which he won of course). </p><p> </p><p>The only time he even spared Geralt a thought is when he played the songs he wrote about the man. He didn’t even have time to ponder just how much he already missed the witcher late at night because every evening he all but collapsed into bed and was asleep in moments. </p><p> </p><p>It’s probably good he didn’t dwell on it too much though, since a few weeks into the spring; in the second town Jaskier had arrived in, he found Geralt sitting in the back of the tavern, gruff as ever.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had, without a second thought, sidled up to him with an enthusiastic “Oh! Geralt! Fancy seeing you here in… wherever we are. Have a drink with me!” and they’d started traveling together again without even mentioning it. Almost as if they’d never split up in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Once he’s a bit less drunk, Jaskier has to wonder if Geralt being at a town so close to Oxenfurt, so soon after winter, was more than just a ‘happy little coincidence,’ especially when there weren’t even any contracts nearby, but he never asks. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t want to look like a fool if he’s wrong in his suspicion that Geralt secretly enjoys his presence enough to seek him out. He holds the idea dear to his heart though. Thinks about it every time Geralt grumbles that they aren’t friends.</p><p> </p><p>They fall back into the routine they’d established the year before quickly. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier trails after Geralt, who rides at a slow enough pace that he can keep up easily. While they travel Jaskier rambles and sings and hums and plays, and Geralt occasionally graces him with a grunt. </p><p> </p><p>They go around, chasing after whatever contracts Geralt can find, and Jaskier plays in the taverns and inns they come across along the way. He composes songs about Geralt’s many adventures and begs to come along while he fights monsters. Geralt even lets him sometimes, and when he doesn’t, Jaskier always manages to pry at least <em> most </em>of the story out of the taciturn witcher. </p><p> </p><p>When Jaskier had first decided to follow after Geralt, he’ll admit it had only been to get material for a few songs. He’d been terrified of the Witcher, and honestly, when he really pauses to give it thought, he still is, but he also can’t imagine going back to traveling without the man. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt may be grumpy and come across as standoffish at best, but he’s also soft in all these little ways he doesn’t let anyone see. Anyone but Jaskier that is, because the bard has forced himself into the witcher’s life in such a way that it makes it hard to hide much of anything from him. </p><p> </p><p>He’s always careful to not push Jaskier too hard in their travels. He doesn’t kill things that don’t deserve it and never hesitates to protect people who need it, even without the promise of coin. He cares about animals, and Jaskier’s never seen someone with a closer bond to a horse. How Roach can love Geralt so much after he gave her such a horrible name, Jaskier doesn’t know, but it is something else. </p><p> </p><p>They’ve been traveling together again for a while now, and the sticky warmth of early summer has crept in. Geralt’s gone off on a contract he suspects is for a foglet (or was it a foglet den?), and Jaskier is waiting for him in their camp. </p><p> </p><p>He’s waiting perfectly patiently too, and he isn’t worried at all even though Geralt should’ve been back already and it’s far too quiet, and even witchers can get hurt. </p><p> </p><p>He’s <em> not </em>worried. </p><p> </p><p>….</p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should just go check on Geralt though? Just go after him and have a quick peek around the battlefield, just to make sure he’s alright. </p><p> </p><p>But then, Geralt had explicitly told him to stay put and not come after him… </p><p> </p><p>But Geralt doesn’t know everything about him! And he thinks he’d probably be willing to reveal himself as a magic-user of some sort to the witcher if it meant saving his life! Not that he assumes Geralt will need saving- he’s capable of defending himself obviously, but he has been gone for a while. He’s simply pointing out that, if the need were to arise, he’d be willing to reveal his true nature if it meant saving Geralt’s life. </p><p> </p><p>(And he thinks Geralt probably wouldn’t even hate him too much. The witcher has consistently spared all sentient ‘monsters’ who aren’t hurting anyone they’ve come across, and Jaskier thinks he’d probably fall under that category- hopefully. He certainly doesn’t feel as if he’s hurting anybody just by existing, but he can think of a few people who would probably disagree.)</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sits there, fiddling with his lute for a while, and watches the sun fall lower and lower on the horizon. </p><p> </p><p>Yeah, he’s made up his mind. He stands, determined to go after Geralt and make sure he’s alright. He’ll be careful and everything, but he’s not just going to leave his witcher to die at the hands of monsters! Especially not ones with such a silly-sounding name as “foglets.”</p><p> </p><p>(Unless Geralt’s already dead but he’s not willing to even so much as to address the possibility until he’s seen it with his own two eyes. Maybe not even then given his track record. Could he revive a person? He’s never tried, and he’d like for the need to never arise.)</p><p> </p><p>Then there’s a loud noise coming from the bushes, and Geralt stumbles out. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier heaves a sigh of relief and lets a small smile dance on his lips. This quickly turns back into a frown as he takes Geralt in.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes are still black from whatever potions he downed during the battle, his face all veiny and pale. He’s extremely tense, his hair matted with sweat, dirt, and blood. He’s clutching his gut and breathing heavily. </p><p> </p><p>“Geralt! Are you alright?” Jaskier rushes forward and Geralt just grits his teeth, moving his hand away just slightly to reveal the blood seeping through a large wound on his lower gut. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Melitele’s tits, I thought you said foglets weren’t too bad!” the bard rushes forward towards him. </p><p> </p><p>“Wasn’t-” Geralt starts and then breaks off, his face scrunching up in pain, “Wasn’t foglets- ancient foglet. They- they’re fuckin’ bastards,” His words are clipped, as if Geralt could barely choke them out through his clenched teeth.  </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier moves the witcher’s hand away from the wound, taking it in with a frown. It’s deep. </p><p> </p><p>“Is this going to be okay? Should we do something?” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt turns to him with an unreadable expression in his pitch-black eyes, “It’s fine. I took potions already, so it’ll heal.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier hesitantly steps back, “Should we not at least clean it? That looks bad.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head and starts forward, “It’s fine.” he repeats, but he hardly takes a few steps before he stops, hisses in pain, and falls to his knees, his face twisted up in a snarl that reveals his large canines, and his black eyes scrunched up tightly. </p><p> </p><p>“Geralt!” he exclaims, sliding over to his side, his voice taking on a high, panicked pitch “This doesn’t seem fine!”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher shakes his head, “It’ll heal. Just leave it.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier eyes him dubiously, “I’m beginning to doubt the accuracy of that statement- just let me take a look at it. I’m no expert, but even I know a bit of basic first aid.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt sighs, and shrugs, “If that’s what you need to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t act as if I’m the one being childish right now when you’re the one refusing the medical care you clearly need like a toddler.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier pushes back Geralt’s tattered shirt a bit and takes a quick look at the wound, the panic in him spiking even more, “God's help me Geralt- have you no sense of self-preservation? This needs medical attention!” </p><p> </p><p>And it does. There’s far too much blood being lost right now, even for a witcher who’s taken potions. While it could probably heal itself properly, it wouldn’t be able to before Geralt keeled over from blood loss- something Jaskier certainly doesn’t want to happen. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt isn’t even bothering with denying he’s seriously hurt anymore, which is worrying in itself because Geralt loves nothing more than denying the severity of his problems. </p><p> </p><p>He does shoot him a scowl but Jaskier brushes that off. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll have to walk me through a bit of this because I don’t entirely know what I’m doing and this needs stitches.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He tears Geralt’s ripped and bloodied shirt away from the wounded area, and wipes the dried blood away carefully. </p><p> </p><p>He sucks in a breath. Now that he can see it, he can tell that whatever an “ancient foglet” is, it has three rather nasty, sharp claws. The cuts are deep, as he’d initially assessed, but luckily don’t go all the way across Geralt’s chest, or the man probably wouldn’t have been able to stumble to their camp, Witcher or not.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier bites his lip. No more stalling, he knows he needs to stitch these closed, because Geralt is starting to look really, really bad, and Jaskier knows witcher healing is impressive, but he also knows it can’t fix everything. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a nerve-wracking procedure, even with Geralt’s instructions, bitten out between pained grunts. He has no real medical training aside from having patched up a few scrapes and bruises and watching Geralt stitch himself up a few times, but that’s not the same as really knowing how to do it. </p><p> </p><p>But he calms himself as best as he can, and pushes through, desperate to do a good enough job that Geralt will be able to fix his mess properly when he’s feeling better, or at least be in a state where he can be safely moved to get to a healer.  </p><p> </p><p>He keeps the wound as clean as he can as he stitches it closed and forces himself to ignore the pained noises Geralt keeps making. He can’t let himself get distracted, even if it’s by his own worry for his friend. </p><p> </p><p>He’s undoubtedly made plenty of mistakes, but as he finally finishes stitching the wound closed, he moves into wrapping the injuries. This is something he’s far more familiar with and it only takes him a few minutes to properly bandage everything up. </p><p> </p><p>He sits back and stares at Geralt, who stares back a bit blearily. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m done now,” he murmurs, “You need to rest.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunts at that, tearing the rag from his mouth and huffing. He puts on a big show of being annoyed at Jaskier’s meddling, but he still drifts off into a deep sleep in minutes. <br/><br/>Jaskier doubts he’ll be getting much rest, if any. The image of Geralt bleeding heavily, his face clenched in pain, is too vivid in his head still. </p><p> </p><p>He’s content to just sit and watch the rise and fall of Geralt’s chest until the wee hours of the morning though. </p><p> </p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>Geralt is fine by the next day. He’s sluggish, but ready to get going.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier had figured after all that drama the night before, that he would need to take Geralt to a healer in the morning for treatment, but the wound’s already started to properly heal itself. Geralt removed the stitched first thing in the morning while Jaskier was fetching them some breakfast, though he did reapply the bandages at least. </p><p> </p><p>Witcher healing. A true marvel. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier still refuses to let them travel until at least mid-afternoon though, stating that Geralt needs to rest, and Geralt agrees with minimal grunting. </p><p> </p><p>The fact that Geralt had listened to him is a testament to just how tired he is, so Jaskier continues to keep a close eye on him all day, fretting despite the witcher’s insistence that he was never in any danger. </p><p> </p><p>They sit there lazily all morning, Jaskier combing through Geralt’s matted, blood-stained hair, trying the work all the gunk out of it. </p><p> </p><p>“We’ll get you a proper bath once we’re back in town. And more bandages.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunts, but Jaskier can tell he’s looking forward to the bath. </p><p> </p><p>By late afternoon, Geralt is completely fine and they head back to the town they’d picked up the ‘foglet’ contract from in the first place. </p><p> </p><p>On the way there, Geralt tells him all about the differences between a normal foglet and an ancient foglet. Ancient foglets are, as the name would suggest, much older than regular foglets. They’re as powerful as they are old, can move quickly, and have illusions that let them practically turn invisible. Geralt says it’s as if they meld into the fog and you never know where they’re going to strike, and each strike is like hell.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier remarks that he’d figured that last bit out on his own just fine.  </p><p> </p><p>He also shared that he wasn’t at all prepared for a foe that powerful, because the information he was given by the contractor and all the locals left out several key details that Jaskier didn’t fully understand- hence why he thought he was simply clearing out some regular old foglets. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a testament to Geralt's skill that he made it away from that battle, all things considered. </p><p> </p><p>They get their money for the contract quickly. If Geralt was less tired, Jaskier probably would’ve taken the time to lay into the man about leaving out crucial information on the contract. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t though, he just glares from afar while Geralt collects his coin(and maybe flips the local ealdorman off) </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier can’t help but ramble about how ridiculously dumb it is to try and sabotage the person <em> saving your village </em> as the make their way to the local inn where they stable roach and acquire a room for the night. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt goes to get them two, but Jaskier stops him, stating he wants to make sure Geralt’s injuries are as ‘fine’ as he’s claimed they are. He doesn’t think he could stand to be parted from his friend at this exact moment- the worry would be too much. </p><p> </p><p>The whole day has felt completely normal- been completely normal, but Jaskier is on edge. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt got hurt, and all he’s able to think about is the sight of Geralt stumbling into camp and moving his hand just slightly to reveal blood- so much blood. </p><p> </p><p>Every time he blinks he sees Geralt lying there, half-dazed, sweaty, and clenching his teeth, while Jaskier stitched thick, deep wounds closed.</p><p> </p><p>Every time he looks over at Geralt he’s struck by just how much the witcher means to him now. That Geralt isn’t invincible. That Geralt could die on any of these contracts he runs off on and he would just be sitting around, waiting for his best friend to return. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier has always seen Geralt as… above death somehow. He’s a witcher. Witchers live such long lives compared to humans, and they’re so strong… Even with all the monsters and fighting, Jaskier has never really thought about the fact that in all honesty, Geralt could die. </p><p> </p><p>His heart twists up at the very notion and he finds it hard to breathe. </p><p> </p><p>God, how had Geralt become this important to him? They’ve only known each other for a little over a year, but Geralt is certainly his best friend. Best friend doesn’t even really seem to cover it fully. </p><p> </p><p>His entire livelihood is based around the witcher, yes, but more than that, his entire life has somehow become dedicated to him. He travels to sing Geralt’s praises and convince people to change their minds about witchers. He travels with Geralt even, and he can’t imagine traveling with anyone else anymore.</p><p> </p><p>What would his life be without Geralt? It would feel empty.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls himself from such negative thoughts. No use letting such an upsetting idea spiral, at least for now. </p><p> </p><p>“Bring a bath up to our room.” he smiles charmingly at the barmaid who smiles shyly back, “And make it hot, hotter than usual.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt prefers his baths scorching. </p><p> </p><p>As they head up to their room Geralt nods his thanks at him and Jaskier beams. </p><p> </p><p>“Before you wash, I should change your bandages again,”</p><p> </p><p>“I can do it myself,” Geralt huffs. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes at that, giving Geralt an exasperated look, “And why pray tell, would you do that, when it would be much faster if you just let me do it?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt doesn’t respond, choosing instead to barrel into their room with all the grace of an angry bull. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh calm down, I promise I won’t write any ballads of the time the Great White Wolf had to let a measly bard help him out… probably” Jaskier follows him in, closing the door with a soft click. </p><p><br/>The rooms are small, but far from the smallest they’ve ever stayed in. The bed is a decent size too, so it won’t be too awkward to share. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt continues to pout as they settle in, but when Jaskier digs the bandages out of their pack and gestures for Geralt to sit on their bed, he does so. </p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Jaskier begins conversationally as he removes the blood-stained bandages from the night before, trying to distract himself from the sickness that bubbles up in him at the sight of Geralt's blood, “You shouldn’t brood so much. You’ll get wrinkles- can witchers even get wrinkles? Well if not, you ought to, just as a punishment for being so grouchy all the time.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt scoffs, but plays along “I don’t brood.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Of course, my mistake,” Jaskier discards the wrappings from the night before “You only pout. Like a large child.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt glares and Jaskier begins to tug new bandages in place. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The gaping wounds from the night before are nearly gone, which he knew because Geralt had informed him that he’d removed the stitches that morning, but there’s a difference between knowing, and actually seeing it scabbed over already and well on their way to being healed </p><p> </p><p>“It’s looking a lot better.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt doesn’t look like he’s going to give him a real response for a long moment, and Jaskier almost goes to start talking again when Geralt grumbles “Being a witcher has to have some perks.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier smiles softly, “Other than the ridiculous strength and long life span you mean,”</p><p> </p><p>He’s kidding obviously. He knows being a witcher is absolute hell, one doesn’t just travel with one for over a year and not come to that realization. </p><p> </p><p>Just as he’s finishing up, the barmaid from earlier comes bustling in, hauling their bath with her. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier notes the way Geralt perks up ever so slightly at the sight of the warm water. </p><p> </p><p>The moment the girl leaves, Geralt is stripping and climbing in. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier wishes he’d be a little slower about the whole affair. Geralt is quite the looker and Jaskier would like to get a better chance to… well maybe admire a bit, but no, put a bath in front of the man, and Geralt all but sprints into it. </p><p> </p><p>“You can go you know,” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier blinks, “Go?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt raises a brow at him and glances pointedly towards his lute, which is propped up against the wall. <br/><br/></p><p>“Go play? You’re <em> supposedly </em>a bard, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt, you can just take that supposedly right out of there. I know you’re hardly an expert in the bardic arts, but I’m widely renowned as one of the best bards on the continent at the moment.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt just grunts and Jaskier rolls his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Before you go kicking me out, at least let me help you with your hair. You never seem to get all the monster guts out without my help.” he holds up a small bottle of soap from his bag. He carries it around for himself, but Geralt certainly sees as much use out of it as he does.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shrugs at that, but shifts in the tub ever so slightly so Jaskier can reach his hair with no obstacles. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier smiles and settles in next to Geralt, beginning to massage his scalp with the sweet-smelling soap. </p><p> </p><p>“Your hair is so soft, even though you don’t take proper care of it. It’s not fair.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunts, but there’s a smile there. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier knows how much the witcher likes when he washes his hair. He’d found out after a particularly gory fight with a kikimora when Geralt had been absolutely failing at getting the monster guts out of his hair. After watching the witcher struggle for far too long, Jaskier had come up to him and asked if he could help. </p><p> </p><p>He’s settled into a routine of washing Geralt’s hair when they’re together and have access to a bath ever since. He does a much better job than his companion ever had. Witcher training clearly didn’t include any courses on basic personal hygiene.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go down and perform for a bit once I’m done with this,” he decides and Geralt hums his assent. </p><p> </p><p>“If I get enough coin, could we stop by the market before we leave tomorrow? You need more bandages and I was hoping to restock our rations.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt just hums again. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier falls into a rhythm of methodically going through Geralt’s hair, pulling all the dirt and god knows what else out (he certainly doesn’t want to know), and combing through with his fingers softly. </p><p> </p><p>He breaks out into soft humming at some point, and Geralt doesn’t say anything. </p><p><br/>Jaskier might be imagining things but the witcher could have relaxed even further- no he was definitely imagining things. Geralt very vocally doesn’t like his singing (or humming, or anything of those sorts), and Jaskier knows Geralt cares, but the witcher doesn’t care for his music one bit. </p><p> </p><p> Eventually, Jaskier does finish washing Geralt’s hair- though it took some time. Geralt has a way of getting dirtier than any man Jaskier’s ever known. </p><p> </p><p>It’s mostly the monster hunting, but Jaskier thinks part of it is uniquely Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright, I’m off to go play a few sets. Do you want me to bring you up some food when I’m done?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, standing from the tub and grabbing a towel the barmaid left for them to dry off. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright. Do try and get some rest? I don’t want to come up here and find you sharpening your swords or some nonsense.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hums noncommittally and Jaskier levels him with a look. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares right back at him for a long moment, but eventually, he looks away from Jaskier’s equally hard gaze and nods, huffing out a gruff “Fine.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier doesn’t fully believe him, but he claps his hands together and exclaims “Delightful!” anyways as he grabs his lute from where he’d set it down. </p><p> </p><p>With that he heads out, determined to sing these people's ears off about just how wonderful Geralt is. It would be too optimistic to hope that any of the locals would care to feel bad about the way they withheld vital information from Geralt, but he can hope to convince them to not be so shitty to witchers in the future. </p><p> </p><p>And if just a <em> bit </em>of magic makes its way into his singing that night, if only to make people a little more susceptible to having their minds swayed, who’s going to know?</p><p> </p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>When he gets back to their room after his performance, his pockets are heavy with coin and his hands full of food. The meals here don’t even look too bad. </p><p> </p><p>He pushes open the door and goes to start rambling about his rousing performance when he realizes Geralt is asleep. </p><p> </p><p>So Geralt did take his advice and decided to get some rest. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sets their food on the small table that was crammed into the room and carefully settles down next to Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>He just looks at the witcher for a long moment, and all of his barely pushed away fears of Geralt getting hurt- truly hurt- on a contract come rushing back. </p><p> </p><p>He tucks a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear and bites his lip. </p><p> </p><p>This is a bad idea. </p><p><br/>A really bad idea. </p><p> </p><p>Especially considering what Geralt has told him about witcher biology- they’re magic resistant. </p><p> </p><p>But magic resistant doesn’t mean magic proof, and Jaskier knows that his magic is powerful. </p><p> </p><p>It won’t be anything strong, nothing Geralt will notice. Just a little bit of magic that’ll let him know if Geralt’s hurt. </p><p> </p><p>He weighs the risks with the rewards. Yes, Geralt could realize he’s been casting spells on him and be enraged, but it’s such a simple, light spell… It feels worth it.</p><p> </p><p>He’s still feeling warmed up from the small amount of magic he’d let into his performance earlier, and he brings it forward again easily. </p><p> </p><p>He hums softly, channeling his want- no his need to protect Geralt to the forefront. </p><p> </p><p>He needs to know if the witcher is in danger, real danger, not just run of the mill drowner danger. </p><p> </p><p>He wraps the magic around Geralt, pushing past the blocks that stand in the way. </p><p> </p><p>He grits his teeth. God, when Geralt said he was magic resistant he wasn’t kidding. It’s as if his spell can’t get a good grip. The only real way to describe it would be to say it keeps sliding off. </p><p> </p><p>It’s as if everyone else has little grooves that his magic can easily latch onto, but Geralt is all smooth. There’s nothing for the magic to cling to so it just falls away every time he tries to truly attach the spell to Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier won’t have it. </p><p> </p><p>He clenches his fists and digs in, forcing the magic to grab onto Geralt and hold on, whether it wants to or not. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” he murmurs, slumping as he finally manages to get the spell to hold properly. </p><p> </p><p>It’s just a small thing. It’ll alert him if Geralt is in life-threatening danger. On anyone else, it would’ve been easy magic. </p><p> </p><p>He’d had to use more than he’d thought he would. He’s sure Geralt will be able to sense all the energy in the room and he groans. </p><p> </p><p>There’s not much to be done at this point. He sprays some cologne on himself quickly in hopes that the smell will somehow mask the heavy feeling of magic in the room. </p><p> </p><p>Then he hesitantly shakes the witcher awake, chewing on his bottom lip. </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt blinks groggily. </p><p> </p><p>“I brought us food,” Jaskier ignores how strained his voice sounds. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt swallows, and sits up, “Fuck, didn’t mean to fall asleep.” </p><p> </p><p>Then he stiffens, sniffing the air and shooting up. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier tenses, but pretends he didn’t notice, “It’s good that you did. You needed it, especially since you wanted to get out on the road again by tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt holds up a hand and leans over towards Jaskier, getting far closer than Jaskier thinks he ever has before and sniffing him. </p><p> </p><p>He tenses, “Umm, Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt grunts and leans back, “You’re an idiot bard.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wh-Wha” his voice cracks and his mind turns. </p><p> </p><p>What does that even mean? Does Geralt know what he is? Would it be weird to ask that? What if Geralt can’t tell- what-</p><p> </p><p>“You fucked a sorceress.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier freezes, “O-Oh?” </p><p> </p><p>He sits there for a second, trying to process that. </p><p> </p><p>What?</p><p> </p><p>“I can smell it, all over you. You reek of magic.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier clasps his hands together and fidgets, “Really? Th-ats crazy, she seemed so normal.”</p><p> </p><p>Is that something he would say? Fuck this is so nervewracking. </p><p> </p><p>“Be more careful, mages can be dangerous” Geralt scoffs and then stands, going to grab his plate. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course…” Jaskier goes over to join him and they sit at the small table. </p><p> </p><p>They start to eat, and the silence feels oppressive. Geralt doesn’t seem to notice anything but Jaskier squirms. </p><p> </p><p>“Umm,” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt looks at him expectantly. </p><p> </p><p>“The food- It isn’t bad! Not like the last inn, now that was hardly food. Truly disgusting stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt nods. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier takes that as an invitation to continue talking, and before he knows it, all his anxiety is forgotten, or at least shoved into the farthest corner of his mind. </p><p><br/>Geralt doesn’t even know it was him who did the magic, so there’s no reason to freak out. </p><p> </p><p>Later that night though, after they’ve gone to bed, he lies there and thinks about what Geralt said. </p><p> </p><p>He smelled like a sorcerer.</p><p> </p><p>A human sorcerer.</p><p><br/>What does that mean? What is he? His mother always said he wasn’t human, and he’s inclined to believe that. His magic doesn’t work like human magic does. The give and take- it’s not there for him. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t understand though. He thought his magic would be different. He figured Geralt would sense it- or smell it, whatever it is the witcher does, and know it came from something different. Something inhuman. Something monstrous. Instead, Geralt mistook it for a human mage? </p><p> </p><p>He closes his eyes and sighs. Why does his life have to be so complicated?</p><p> </p><p>He rolls over and curls up to try and get some sleep. It’s not as if freaking out over it is going to help him figure out what he is after all…</p><p> </p><p>There is a certain relief… a weight off his chest, knowing that his very being isn’t so inherently evil that it smells like a monster. </p><p> </p><p>His magic is his soul, and Geralt mistook his soul for human. </p><p> </p><p>So maybe his mother was wrong. Maybe he isn’t a monster. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it doesn’t even matter… He’s learned in recent years that it’s a rather subjective word in all honesty. Many would call Geralt a monster, but Jaskier would call him his traveling companion and closest friend. </p><p> </p><p>He shuts his eyes and resigns himself to not think about it all too hard. It upsets him, and he’d get wrinkles if he let himself dwell on these things too often.</p><p> </p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>After all his fear of Geralt getting hurt on a hunt, he’s the one who gets seriously injured next. </p><p> </p><p>Another winter has passed and they’d just met up again. It’s mid-spring and Jaskier had been getting nervous he wouldn’t find Geralt again for a while. </p><p> </p><p>Then he runs into the man, leading roach along through a busy market on his way to pick up a new contract and attaches himself to his hip again. </p><p> </p><p>“So? What’s the contract for?” </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t know.” Geralt admits. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, what’s it say?” Jaskier peers over Geralt’s shoulder to look at the piece of parchment he has clenched in his hands. </p><p> </p><p>“It says ‘witcher needed to kill a monster” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier scrunches up his nose and plucks at his lute, “What a boring way to put it. There’s no drama- no flair. Just” he lowers his voice to sound grumpy, “Witcher needed. Monsters.”</p><p> </p><p>He sighs, “How dull,” then he elbows Geralt, “This is why you’re so lucky to have me. I take your wonderful adventures, and tell them properly.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt snorts and that and Jaskier gasps in mock offense. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve drastically improved your image and you know it! You brute. Might as well just rip out my heart and eat it,”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt rolls his eyes, “Don’t be dramatic.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, but Geralt, that’s a bard's <em> job </em>. Imagine a bard with no drama? Why, they’d just be a man with a lute. You would have me destroy my reputation as the continent's best bard?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, not even bothering with a response. </p><p> </p><p>“You must admit,” Jaskier looks up at Geralt with a warm smile, “I really have helped your reputation. Every year, less and less bastards decide to ‘expel the foul demon from their town’ or whatever nonsense they came up with to justify pelting us with rocks and the like.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hesitates and then nods, “You have… helped I mean.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s heart floods with warmth and he beams. </p><p><br/>“Gods I’ve missed you Geralt. I’m so glad we’ve found each other again!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt gives him a long look, and then nods. <br/><br/></p><p>That’s practically a tear-filled reunion in Geralt speak(a language Jaskier continues to grow more and more proficient in as the years go by). </p><p> </p><p>And then they’re making their way up to a small home a ways away from town, and a young woman is throwing herself at their feet- or more Geralt’s feet. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, master witcher! Thank ye for comin’- gods bless-” she goes on and on, and Geralt stands there looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, well… The notice said there are monsters?”</p><p> </p><p>She nods, “Yes- They’ve taken my parents.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt winces and Jaskier does as well. The woman seems to notice. <br/><br/>“I know they’ve likely died, and that their corpses have probably been picked beyond all recognition, but whatever got them, they would’ve wanted it to be stopped- before it can kill another.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, “Can I get any information on the monster?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier cuts in, “And our condolences for your parents,”</p><p> </p><p>Because they are dead most likely. The chances that they aren’t is so slim it’s not even worth entertaining the idea.</p><p> </p><p>The woman nods, “Yes of course, please, come in.”</p><p> </p><p>She opens the door to allow them inside, and shares what she knows about the monster that’s plaguing this town… which is not much. </p><p> </p><p>A few people have gone missing now apparently. Her parents, who were elderly, a young boy down the road, a woman in her 30s, a couple that lived up the stream. They’ve all vanished without a trace, as if they left their house one day and never managed to come back. </p><p> </p><p>The only connection is that all the victims have lived on the far edge of town and had to pass through some thick forest areas to get to the main square. </p><p> </p><p>Information as to what sort of monster it is though? She regretfully doesn’t have much. Geralt is hesitant, clearly believing it to be humans, but the woman is insistent that it’s not humans. She said there were strange tracks around the forests after the disappearances, but no one was brave enough to follow them, not wanting to meet the same fate as their missing friends and family. </p><p><br/>“I’ll pay ye- good too. 250 Crowns.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, “I’ll look around. Is there anyone else around who would have any information. </p><p> </p><p>The woman shakes her head, “No, nothing I haven’t already told ye… and even if they did…” she trails off, looking embarrassed. </p><p> </p><p>“They wouldn’t give it to a witcher.” Geralt fills in. </p><p> </p><p>She nods. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier drums his fingers along his lute thoughtfully, “Well, we certainly don’t have much to go off here? Do we Geralt?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> I </em> don’t have much to go off. <em> You’re </em>waiting at the inn.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier glares and goes to argue but Geralt shakes his head, turning to the young woman “Thank you for your hospitality.”</p><p> </p><p>She nods, “Of course. I wish you luck sir witcher- come back once you’ve avenged my parents and you can collect yer reward.”</p><p> </p><p>She rushes them outside, and the moment they’re a ways away from the young woman’s home Jaskier glares at Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>“Come on, I’ll stay far away from the violence and all that- plus it might not even be that dangerous.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. Might not. Or, it might be dangerous. You wait at the inn.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on Geralt- I haven’t seen you fight anything since last summer! How am I supposed to change the public's opinion about Witchers with my songs, if you won’t even let me go see your epic battles!”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous. Don’t know what I’m dealing with.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier gives him his best puppy dog eyes, “Geralt, please? I promise I’ll stay where you tell me too and I won’t get near the fighting- I’ll stay with Roach! I’ll be fine! Plus, even you don’t think there’s any real monster. It’s probably a human.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head again, “A human that could probably kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>He tries not to show it, but Jaskier can see his resolve wavering a bit. </p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t had a good new song in months Geralt. Please let me come. Plus I know you can protect me from humans. You’ve only done it a million times before. I can even defend myself pretty well against people! And if it’s a monster I’ll run away, as usual.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher sighs. </p><p> </p><p>“You stay with Roach. And you run if she runs.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier beams “Of course!”</p><p> </p><p>______</p><p> </p><p>The woman who contracted them lived on the farthest edge of town from the forested area they needed to search, so after a fairly long trek across town and into the woods, Jaskier is bored enough that he’s started playing a little lune. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt is intently staring at the ground and walking around. Jaskier isn’t sure what exactly he’s looking for, but he watches him work cheerfully. </p><p> </p><p>He always forgets just how boring monster hunting is. Oh sure, there’s the exciting part, but overall it’s just a lot of Geralt staring at dirt and figuring out what they’re dealing with. </p><p> </p><p>The witcher is clearly struggling with finding whatever it is he’s looking for, and Jaskier would offer his help if it would do any good. </p><p> </p><p>After a while, Geralt seems to pick up on something and gestures for him to follow. </p><p> </p><p>“What are we doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Following tracks.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier squints at the ground and realizes there are very faint tracks left. They’re too faded to make out what they are, but they are distinct enough to make out if you focus on them. </p><p> </p><p>After following them for a while, Geralt stops and Jaskier looks up from his lute. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, gross. <br/><br/>There’s a small pile of bloody human remains, torn beyond all recognition. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at it and curses. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck. I didn’t think there was actually-” he hisses as he inspects the tracks “You should go, Jaskier, this is a werewolf and I don’t want you anywhere near it” he turns, but then glances at the sky and curses. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you really think that’s wise?” Jaskier looks up as well, taking in the setting sun, and the full moon which is becoming more and more visible with every passing moment. He hadn’t realized how long they’d been out here until just now. </p><p> </p><p>“No. Fuck.” Geralt runs a hand over his face and draws his steel sword “It’s too late now, you’ll have to stay.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier nods and continues to look at the moon. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it true what they say about werewolves? That they draw their power from the full moon.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods with a scowl, fishing a bottle out of his belongings and applying the oil to his weapon. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier takes a deep breath. They really do have rotten luck sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>“Well that’s not great for me I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>Even he knows not to get involved with werewolves. They’re vicious creatures, known for tearing men apart and devouring them, leaving their loved ones with nothing but the scraps of their clothes and bloodstained dirt to mourn them with. </p><p> </p><p>The mangled mess in front of them is proof enough for him that those are not mere rumors.</p><p> </p><p>He trusts Geralt will protect him though. Plus, while his offensive magic isn’t the best since he hardly has any practice with it, he’s fought monsters before and would like to consider himself a bit of a natural. He’d rather not have to defend himself though, because there’s a chance that after he’s thoroughly exhausted from dealing with the monster, Geralt will turn on him, and he could never bring himself to hurt Geralt.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want me and Roach to go hide or?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, “It’ll smell you and go after you. Stay with me and I’ll keep it from hurting you.”</p><p> </p><p>He can tell Geralt’s mad at himself, probably for letting Jaskier come along today. </p><p> </p><p>He sighs, “We had no way of knowing it would wind up being this dangerous. It didn’t sound as if there was going to even be anything out here,” he assures, and Geralt grunts. </p><p> </p><p>“Exactly. I didn’t know and I brought you anyways,” the Witcher runs a hand over his face and then sighs, “I need to concentrate.” </p><p> </p><p>Then he walks forward a few feet, a clear dismissal. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sighs and leans on Roach, petting her lightly. </p><p> </p><p>“What a night. Huh, girl?” </p><p> </p><p>She bumps into him and he pats her good-naturedly. </p><p> </p><p>It had taken a lot of treats to win this horse over, but it was certainly worth it. He sees why Geralt loves her so much. </p><p> </p><p>They stand there in silence for a long while, tension thrumming through the air. </p><p> </p><p>It’s too quiet, no bugs chirping or animals rustling about. Even the trees seem determined to remain completely still. It’s eerie and Jaskier stands there, fully on edge. </p><p> </p><p>He’s alert, trying to look for signs of a werewolf coming to get him, even though he knows he won’t notice them no matter how hard he tries. He’s got no idea what to look for.</p><p> </p><p>He does notice when Geralt suddenly snaps to attention and whirls around to face him.</p><p> </p><p>He opens his mouth to ask where the werewolf is, but an abrupt, blinding pain in his back lets him know. </p><p> </p><p>He hisses and crumples to the ground, meeting Geralt’s wide, golden eyes as he collapses. </p><p> </p><p>He’s frozen for a brief moment, but turns to face the werewolf numbly as awareness seeps in. He tries his best to scoot away from the monster, distantly noting that Roach had darted away after he fell. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt surges forward, a rage in his movements that Jaskier has never seen before. This isn’t just killing a monster for coin- this is personal. </p><p> </p><p>He’d be flattered if he wasn’t in so much pain. </p><p> </p><p>His back is screaming, and he can barely stay conscious. </p><p> </p><p>He has to though because he needs to stay out of the way so Geralt can kill that son of a bitch and get him to a fucking healer. </p><p><br/>Thank Melitele they’re so close to town, because when he reaches back to try and figure out where the wound is, his hand comes back warm and sticky with blood. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” he hisses, moaning in pain. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt makes quick work of the werewolf, but it feels like he’s lying there for eons, watching Geralt dodge hits and send them back tenfold at the beast.</p><p> </p><p>The moment the monster is dead, Geralt turns to him, a desperateness in his eyes he’s never seen.</p><p> </p><p>“Jask,” the witcher drops down by him. <br/><br/>“I’m okay,” he mumbles and then chokes out a laugh “It’s a good thing I let Roach hold onto my lute though huh? She’s a good girl. Please get her so we can go. I think I might need a healer.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt chokes on a laugh, his face betraying more expression than he usually lets show. </p><p> </p><p>“Knew you cared,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt hums.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Then he’s being scooped up by Geralt, carefully as to not irritate the large wounds on his back, and turned over so he can see how bad it is. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank fuck,” relief heavy in his voice, “They’re shallow. You’re going to make it.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier huffs out a laugh, “Of course. You thought you could-” he’s cut off by pain as Geralt shifts his hold on him and pants, “could get rid of me this easy?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt calls for Roach who comes running back. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you...” Jaskier pauses as Geralt props him up on Roach, “Don’t you need the werewolves head?” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head as he climbs onto Roach, “I’ll come back tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier nods, “Probably a good idea.”</p><p> </p><p>As they ride he can’t help but hiss, “Fuck it hurts,” </p><p> </p><p>“I know,” he can feel Geralt staring intently at his back. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll need stitches.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier nods, his fists clenched tight. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t feel properly aware of his surroundings for the entire ride. It’s as if everything is a million miles away and he’s just drifting. He knows he’s breathing heavily, but he can’t hear it. He’s aware of the movement underneath him as Roach speedily makes the trek back to town, but it feels distant. He knows Geralt is behind him, keeping him safe, but he can’t focus. </p><p> </p><p>The only thing that feels real is the burning pain in his back. </p><p> </p><p>When they get to the healer’s hut, Geralt hurries him inside. </p><p> </p><p>An older woman comes out from the back. </p><p> </p><p>“What’s all this so late at night?” she stops for a moment and exclaims “Oh!” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier guesses she must have just noticed him, but his eyes are screwed shut in pain so he can’t be sure. He can’t remember when he closed his eyes, but they’re definitely closed. </p><p> </p><p>“Get him to the bed!” the woman exclaims, and Jaskier figures Geralt must do so because he’s being laid down on a bed on his stomach. </p><p> </p><p>Then someone starts poking around his back and he moans in pain. </p><p><br/>“I know. This is going to hurt but you’ll have to push through it.” the healer says softly. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier turns his head slightly, looking blearily around the hut. </p><p> </p><p>“Geralt,” he mumbles and then Geralt is right there. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m here.” the witcher says, too much raw concern in his eyes. </p><p><br/>“Fuck, am I dying?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, “I said you’d be fine, didn’t I?”<br/><br/>The healer tsks, gathering materials and carrying them over, “You’re not dying. You are about to go to sleep though because I’m going to give you medicine.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier nods, and then he’s being handed some sort of plant. </p><p> </p><p>“Eat it, you’ll be sound asleep in no time.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier does as she asked, staring at Geralt the whole time, reaching out at some point to take the witcher's hand in his own. He squeezes it tightly as the healer begins to work on his back.<br/><br/>“Stay?” he begs as sleep starts to take over.</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, “I’ll be here when you wake up.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier gives a slight, pained smile, and before he even knows it, he’s sound asleep. </p><p> </p><p>_______</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes Geralt is there, just as Jaskier vaguely remembers he’d promised, and he’s informed that it isn’t as serious as it felt in the moment. </p><p> </p><p>The cuts were shallow and easily cleaned up. They hadn’t even required stitches once the healer got a better look. Keeping them bandaged and infection-free would be their only issue.</p><p> </p><p>“The healer said you’ll have to have salve rubbed on it twice a day for a month,” Geralt informs, “and you can’t travel for at least two weeks, but she’d prefer you stay at the inn for a bit longer if coin permits.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier frowns, and hesitantly mumbles “I still have coin from wintering at Oxenfurt, so that won’t be a problem.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, “Good.”</p><p> </p><p>“The only real problem will be finding someone who wants to rub goop on my back every night. I’m just gonna assume sex isn’t a great idea, at least for a while, so I can’t even offer a good fuck. That’s going to be a pain.” </p><p> </p><p>“What are you talking about?” the witcher stares at him in confusion and Jaskier blinks. <br/><br/>“Well, I just thought since it’s my back that’s fucked up sex probably would be a bad idea.” he waggles his eyebrows “If you’re that impatient though I suppose-”</p><p> </p><p>He’s cut off “No, no not that. Even you have to know not to have any of your... escapades for a while after this. I meant the salve.”</p><p> </p><p>Now Jaskier’s even more confused. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, it’ll be hard to properly reach back there.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him, “I’ll do it obviously.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s eyes shoot open, “How is that obvious?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him and Jaskier furrows his brows. </p><p> </p><p>He starts to say something, but realization suddenly dawns on Geralt’s face. </p><p> </p><p>“You want me to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Why would I?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt looks down, his eyes tracing the dirt floor intently “I understand.”</p><p> </p><p>The witcher stands and Jaskier’s arm shoots out, grabbing Geralt’s wrist weakly. </p><p> </p><p>“Wait! I don’t want you to go. I just thought, well you’re always in a big rush to get back on the path and I’m all but bedridden for the next few weeks. I assumed you’d leave.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him, “I said I’d stay.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s heart swells. </p><p> </p><p>“You really will? For two whole weeks?”</p><p> </p><p>“Two and a half.” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier doesn’t quite know how to describe what he’s feeling right now- it’s like a waterfall of emotion. Relief, joy, amusement, affection, love. </p><p> </p><p>Mostly love. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier gives Geralt a big smile as his heart thunders in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“You should rest.” Geralt grunts and Jaskier nods. </p><p> </p><p>“And you’re really staying?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, “I won’t fail to protect you again.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes and burrows himself into the healer’s pillows. </p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t fail at anything. I threw myself into danger and you kept me alive.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt hums and sits back down at his bedside. </p><p> </p><p>“Sleep.”</p><p> </p><p>And he does. It comes easy.</p><p> </p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>After a few days, Jaskier is feeling a lot better. Much more like himself. </p><p> </p><p>He’s also able to think through everything that’s happened and the new feelings that have started to blossom as a result. </p><p> </p><p>He might be a little, tiny, itsy bit, in love with Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>He’s always been attracted to him of course- who wouldn’t be! It was the reason he went up to him in the first place back in Posada. </p><p> </p><p>But attraction and love are very, very different things. </p><p> </p><p>But how could he not love Geralt? </p><p> </p><p>When the man looked at him with those big earnest golden eyes, the color of sunshine and warmth and happiness, and said he would stay, even when Jaskier was being such a burden. Even when it goes against his very nature to be stuck in a town like this with nothing to do for weeks. How can he look at that, stare it in the face, and not fall just a bit in love?</p><p> </p><p>How could he not love Geralt for how funny and noble and kind and beautiful and caring he is? How? His feelings didn’t ask for permission, they just… decided to pop in, and it’s not hard for him to see why. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt isn’t perfect- but he’s real and he’s Jaskier’s, except he isn’t. Geralt doesn’t at all feel the same way- he barely admits they’re friends on a good day, even when he does things like rescuing him from a werewolf, or soothingly, and oh so carefully, applying healing salve to his back, or bringing him his favorite meal every evening.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier just wants to yell ‘Stop doing such sweet things! It’s making my heart do little backflips inside me!’</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t yell that. </p><p> </p><p>He might be famous for having no filter, but he does have a filter, however rarely it might be used, and he is going to be using it in this particular instance. </p><p> </p><p>Even if he does kinda wanna just go right on ahead and confess his love outright to Geralt. </p><p><br/>The thing is, he doesn’t fall in love. After everything with Valdo, he’s been more than hesitant to let someone in like that. He has flings, not relationships. </p><p> </p><p>His last ‘major fling’ of sorts was when he stayed with the Countess de Stael for the winter after his and Geralt’s first year traveling together, but that wasn’t a relationship based in love. </p><p> </p><p>She was a wonderful woman and he even composed a few songs about her beauty. She let him engage in all the finer things in life while he was there, and they fucked just about constantly. There was no cuddling or sweet nothings or anything resembling love though. Only lust. It was perfect for him.</p><p> </p><p>Usually, Jaskier doesn’t even go for that much. He just has one night stands. He knows them well, enjoys them, and they don’t require any kind of emotional investment. </p><p> </p><p>So despite Jaskier’s excessive experience in the carnal arts, he knows nothing about love or relationships. </p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t dated in years, and he hadn’t thought he would ever be interested in another relationship again. </p><p> </p><p>But of course, if he was going to be interested in someone, it would have to be the most unattainable person on the continent. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt of Rivia doesn’t do love, or at least he hasn’t had any sort of relationship he’d thought worth mentioning to Jaskier. </p><p> </p><p>Although, he hasn’t mentioned Valdo, so that’s not entirely fair, but Valdo brings back painful memories and he’d rather not dwell on all that. </p><p> </p><p>He’d rather not dwell on feelings like love at all. </p><p> </p><p>And that may sound strange for a bard to say, but it’s the truth. He just doesn’t want to deal with it all. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable to the whims of someone else. </p><p> </p><p>But every time Geralt is close to him, his heart pounds and his face flushes and he’s overwhelmed by just how much he’s willing to deal with if it means having Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>He wants to be vulnerable around Geralt. He wants to be close to Geralt, in every way. He wants Geralt to let him in and he wants to let Geralt in. He wants to be held in the witcher’s strong arms and he never wants to be let go again.</p><p> </p><p>But his wants don’t even matter in this situation because Geralt will never be interested. </p><p> </p><p>Even if he did do relationships, Jaskier is pretty sure he would be last on Geralt’s list of candidates. </p><p> </p><p>Plus he’s lying to the witcher about what he is, and even Jaskier knows trust is one of the most important parts of a relationship. </p><p> </p><p>And he wants to tell Geralt about himself, he does. He doesn’t even think Geralt would kill him or anything like that anymore- and if Geralt did, then Jaskier thinks he would take it. Geralt only kill things that deserve it after all. </p><p><br/>He isn’t afraid of Geralt anymore. Not really. He’s afraid of himself always, but not Geralt. He can’t bring himself to fear him anymore.</p><p> </p><p>But every time he goes to explain the magic and his unknown blood and why he’s never told him, his throat clogs up and he can’t get the words out. </p><p> </p><p>It’s like an invisible blockade makes its home in his mouth and he winds up just sitting there fidgeting, anxiety thrumming through him until he finally gives up and starts rambling about some mundane nonsense. </p><p> </p><p>But he wants to tell him. He wants to because….</p><p> </p><p>Because fuck, he’s in love with Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>So much more in love than he’s ever been with anyone before. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine,” he mumbles to himself as he sits in their room. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt is off getting supplies for when they can finally leave this dump (though he remains insistent that they’ll stay put until Jaskier is healed properly) and he’s alone, sitting there with nothing to do but strum at his lute and ponder. </p><p> </p><p>He’s been doing a lot of pondering these last few days.</p><p> </p><p>He’s been unable to focus on composing. He’s going to write a ballad about the incident with the werewolf of course, but his mind wanders every time he tries to focus on writing music. </p><p> </p><p>“No one has to know. It’s not as if the feelings won’t go away with time,” he assures himself. </p><p> </p><p>He’ll get over this silly little crush and then everything will go back to normal. </p><p> </p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>Years pass, and he does not get over his crush. If anything, it gets worse. He’s been trailing after Geralt every year now, for six years. </p><p> </p><p>Six. </p><p> </p><p>He’s been in love with Geralt for half of that time. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt clearly either doesn’t know, or doesn’t want to address it, and Jaskier is fine with that. He’s fine with anything so long as it means he can keep traveling with Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>He doubts Geralt knows though, especially when he does things like insist on coming along with Jaskier to an important bardic competition in the summer at Oxenfurt. </p><p> </p><p>When Jaskier had first told him he’d be going off to Oxenfurt for a week or so for a big competition, he’d assumed Geralt would bid him farewell and they’d split up. It’s not as if they’ve never split up in the warmer months before. Sometimes things just happen, and their separate careers or lives tug them in different directions. </p><p> </p><p>But instead of just saying goodbye, or setting up a meeting point for after the contest, Geralt had grunted, “Okay, when do we need to be there?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier thinks his jaw might’ve actually dropped. He’d blinked and asked, “Oh? You’re coming?” and tried to keep the absolute shock out of his tone. </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt had affirmed and Jaskier had kept staring at him. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt leveled him with a look. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know exactly what you did, but last time you went to one of these things you got into some sort of trouble.”</p><p> </p><p>And the confusion had only deepened with that because as far as Jaskier was aware, he hadn’t done anything at the last bardic contest he’d attended to warrant Geralt following him to Oxenfurt of all places- not that he doesn’t welcome the idea. </p><p> </p><p>“I warned you about fucking around with mages, but you clearly can’t be left alone.”</p><p> </p><p>And then it had clicked. They had met up a mere day or two after his last contest, and Geralt must have smelled magic on him. He uses it heavily when he’s at Oxenfurt after all. Who’s to stop him? It’s good to get his energy out while he’s properly alone in the apartment the school allocates for him, and it makes maintaining the place a breeze even when he doesn’t stay there for the majority of the year. </p><p> </p><p>He’s started experimenting with different spells in the winter. Messing around with different methods of healing plants, and even the occasional injured stray, creating contained fire, and just generally pushing himself a lot harder than he used to. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t feel the same level of shame he once did when using magic.  He may hate himself, but there’s no denying that magic is a part of him, and even if he’s not willing to let anyone else see it, in private he sees no reason not to cultivate his abilities.</p><p> </p><p>So considering how much magic he’d been using, Geralt must’ve been able to smell it very strongly on him, even after a few days…</p><p> </p><p>He’d mentally chastised himself for getting so sloppy.</p><p> </p><p>Well everyone gets sloppy sometimes! At least there was a positive result in this particular instance. He’ll remember to be more careful in the future of course, but for now, he’s going to enjoy having his witcher with him at Oxenfurt. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt looks a bit out of place here, in all honesty, standing amongst large crowds of mostly posh, young students. </p><p> </p><p>They’re standing in the main area of the competition hall. He’s waiting to be allowed backstage to prepare for his first performance and Geralt insisted on waiting with him until he had to go take his seat in the audience. Jaskier got him a nice seat, of course, sectioned off from the masses. </p><p> </p><p>Most of the crowd has thinned out since the doors to the seats opened, so they’re mainly surrounded by young students. </p><p> </p><p>Many of Jaskier’s classmates have long stopped coming to these events. They all ran back to their noble households, their knowledge of the bardic arts securely tucked away to be pulled out only at boring parties. </p><p> </p><p>These events are always filled with mostly young kids, barely even bards, still attending Oxenfurt and hoping to prove themselves. </p><p> </p><p>A lot of the participants are rather conceited most years, believing they will win despite being young and inexperienced compared to all the more established bards. Jaskier doesn’t mind though. He thrives on the competitive energy and strives to treat his rivals with respect regardless of their age. He won one of these large contests when he was a third-year after all, and a real prodigy always runs the risk of slipping in there with all of these self-described prodigies. </p><p> </p><p>As glances over at his companion and notes how tense he’s gotten. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier thrives in this setting. Surrounded by lively music, excited crowds, and judges he continues to wow each year. This time around he has a particularly riveting and dramatic ballad of one of Geralt’s adventures, and he thinks it will move the judges. </p><p> </p><p>But Geralt is the opposite. He hates large crowds, and it’s made worse by the fact that they’re getting a lot of stares, many of which are unabashedly mean-spirited. Geralt has very distinct and noticeable features that often out him as a witcher even before people can see his piercing gold eyes. </p><p> </p><p>The witcher in question looks uncomfortable. Tense. His fists are clenched and his mouth is drawn in a tight scowl. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure you want to stay for the events? I know you’re not a big fan of crowds. You could go back to my apartment and wait for me- I promise I won’t get involved with any sorceresses…” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt raises a brow. </p><p> </p><p>“Or sorcerers. I really won’t. It’s okay if you don’t want to stay.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head, “I want to see you perform.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s face flushes down to his neck, “Oh! Of course!” he exclaims, “Well why wouldn’t you- I’m debuting a new song about you tonight after all.” he gestures around, “All these twats will feel bad for being all ‘glare-y’ at you once I sing about your epic triumphs. Some people will probably want your autograph actually, so you should probably watch out for that.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt loosens up slightly, and Jaskier smiles. </p><p> </p><p>He wants to hear him play?</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. </p><p> </p><p>How is he meant to stop being in love with Geralt when he keeps doing things- saying things- well like that!</p><p> </p><p>He rubs his hands together and starts warming up on his lute, running through a few simple scales to get his fingers ready for his first performance of the night. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt watches him intently as he goes through his warm-ups, and he adds a few vocal exercises as he goes along. </p><p> </p><p>“Last call for the audience!” a young attendee calls out and Jaskier looks up at Geralt. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be fine. So will you; I got you a nice seat where no one should bother you.” </p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, and hesitantly starts towards the doors to the audience seating. </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier sighs as he fades from his view and turns back to his lute. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt may not seem like good company, but his presence soothes his nerves. Now that he’s gone his pre-show jitters have come creeping in. He hardly ever gets nervous before a performance anymore, but these big events always get him a little anxious. </p><p> </p><p>“So, your bodyguard’s finally run off.” </p><p> </p><p>Ugh. </p><p> </p><p>How had he forgotten? He supposes he’d hoped the prick had finally gone off and died, or stopped attending these things at the very least. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t help but notice he’s the witcher you’re always singing about. And here I thought you’d made it all up- though I shouldn’t be surprised that a freak like you would hang around with another freak.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier turns around, “Can I help you Valdo?”</p><p> </p><p>The man grins, it’s all teeth and the slight wrinkles that have formed around his face crumple, “Yes you can actually, thanks for asking” </p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes, “Well, unfortunately, I’m a bit busy, so you’re going to have to find someone else to babysit you,” he pauses “although that’s probably not the right word considering how old you’re beginning to look.”</p><p> </p><p>Marx’s smile takes on a sharper quality, “Well, we can’t all be freaks who stay young forever…” he takes a step closer and looks him up and down, “I wonder dear, does your Witcher know what you are?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rolls his eyes, “Are we really doing the whole blackmail bit again? What do you even plan on telling him?” his voice takes on a mocking tone “Your bard can do magic?” </p><p> </p><p>“I just want to make sure he knows exactly who he’s traveling with. Witchers are known for killing other types of freaks after all, and you most certainly fit the bill.”</p><p> </p><p>Valdo Marx has grown bold again as the years have gone by. His fear of Jaskier has dimmed as he’s seemingly realized that while he could very easily hurt him, he’s not going to. It’s unfortunate but expected. They never even see each other outside of these events, so Jaskier doesn’t let it bother him too much. He forgets about the man for most of the year. </p><p> </p><p>Valdo doesn’t seem capable of letting his petty jealousy and anger towards Jaskier go though, and it serves as a constant pain in his ass.</p><p> </p><p>It’s pathetic really, and dealing with him feels like nothing more than a bothersome chore. </p><p> </p><p>“Alright then, go tell him.” Jaskier brushes the threats off. As if Geralt would trust a stranger’s word over his. </p><p> </p><p>But then again… he might view him more warily. Look a little closer into what Jaskier is… </p><p> </p><p>Valdo levels him with a look as if he smells the hesitation on him. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that really what you want to do?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier rubs a hand over his face, thinking it over for a moment. </p><p> </p><p>Valdo can be persuasive when he wants to, and while Geralt is no idiot, if he even decided to lend the slightest bit of credence to his claims, he could most likely easily figure out that Jaskier isn’t exactly human. </p><p> </p><p>Worse than that, he’d find out that Jaskier’s been lying to him. </p><p> </p><p>Would he let Jaskier travel with him still, if he found out? Would he ever trust him again? Or would he lose Geralt from his life forever? </p><p> </p><p>He groans,  “Fine, what do you even want?”</p><p> </p><p>Valdo gives him a painfully fake smile, “Not much, just one of your songs.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier’s nose scrunches up, “I think it would be pretty obvious that you stole it since most of them are quite popular and associated with my name.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah, cute. No, I mean a new song. You always debut something at these big events, so I know you’ve got something.”</p><p> </p><p>And it’s true, he does, but its a very well done piece about a rather intense encounter Geralt has with a Bruxa earlier in the year, and he’d rather not just give it to Valdo fucking Marx. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t you think it’ll look a bit cheap? Singing about witchers when that’s already my thing? Especially when you rather vocally, don’t even like witchers.”</p><p> </p><p>Valdo shrugs, “Maybe it will, or maybe I’ll be a hit. A changed man who learned the true importance of witchers and now sings about them.”</p><p> </p><p>“So… my thing? Surely you see how tacky that will be.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you have a monopoly on singing about witchers? Are you going to claim to be the only one who can sing about love next? Or perhaps heartbreak?”</p><p> </p><p>“God knows you shouldn’t have the authority on either,” Jaskier scoffs, annoyed at how Valdos' words still manage to prick at a long scabbed-over wound on his heart, “You hardly understand anything about love, or emotions in general.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you do? You’re famous for more than just your music dear. One night stands aren’t love.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier scoffs, “I know plenty about love.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? It’s hardly made it into any of your…” Valdo trails off, realization seeming to strike him. </p><p> </p><p>He doubles over in laughter, “Oh my god, you love the <em> witcher </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier glares at him, but he doesn’t deny it, “You want that song right?” he pulls out his notebook angrily and flips to the pages with his newest hit-to-be and yanks them out. </p><p> </p><p>“Here,” he thrusts them at Marx aggressively “Have fun butchering it,” he storms off, going to stand nearer to the entrance to the backstage area. </p><p> </p><p>He fumes and rubs at his face, hating the ache in his gut his interactions with Valdo always cause. God, he hates the man, more than anyone, but everything he says has a way of still getting to him, even after all these years. </p><p> </p><p>Every time they talk, there’s some part of him that feels like an angry and hurting teenager, storming off into the woods to prove himself all over again. </p><p> </p><p>He takes a deep, calming breath. </p><p> </p><p>He has a performance to prepare for and no song to play. </p><p> </p><p>He’s a good composer, but even he can’t pull a hit out of his ass on such short notice. He’ll have to play old songs it seems. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe make a few adjustments on them? Tweak a few oldies to make them feel new. </p><p> </p><p>He scribbles in his notebook and plucks at his lute vigorously. </p><p> </p><p>“Performers, please head backstage.”</p><p> </p><p>Fuck. He’ll just have to use old music then. </p><p> </p><p>As he heads to the area to receive his time slot for his performance he quickly flips around, trying to pull his best works. He doubts he’ll win with only music the judges have heard before, but he’s just hoping to place at this point. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, he has an early performance time, something he would usually consider a blessing because it would allow him to enjoy the rest of the festivities stress-free, but this time it has him cursing. </p><p> </p><p>God, he hasn’t been this unprepared for a competition since he was a child!</p><p> </p><p>He pushes his anger far down though, he’ll storm off and scream and cry into the void later, but now he needs to focus. </p><p> </p><p>_____________</p><p> </p><p>His performance is weak. He’ll admit it. Even with the old songs, he could’ve given a lively performance, but when he gets on the stage he just feels drained. The audience enjoyed it enough, but the judges looked unimpressed as he took his final bow. </p><p> </p><p>He’s right there with them. That was terrible. One of the worst shows he’s given in years. </p><p> </p><p>He makes his way over to Geralt in the audience, and the witcher greets him with a confused stare. </p><p> </p><p>“What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier opens his mouth to explain, but he’s cut off by a younger girl singing. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll explain outside.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him, “You don’t want to stay and watch?”</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his head, “No, I’d rather just go home. They won’t announce the winners until the party tomorrow evening anyways,” he snorts, “Not that I’ll even place after that display. Let’s just go.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt nods, and Jaskier suddenly pauses. </p><p> </p><p>“Ah, unless you wanted to stay? It’s fine if you do.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shakes his head aggressively, “No.”</p><p> </p><p>His voice leaves no room for argument, and Jaskier is relieved.</p><p> </p><p>As they leave the excited crowds and loud singing behind, Jaskier feels himself slump. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.” he looks at the shops and taverns they pass as they make their way to his apartment. </p><p> </p><p>They’re different than they were when he was a student, but in this moment he doesn’t feel like he’s changed since then. Letting Valdo manipulate him like that again, letting himself <em> care. </em></p><p> </p><p>Every time he thinks he’s over this shit, he’s reminded that for whatever reason he isn’t. </p><p> </p><p>He knows he should explain what had happened to Geralt, but he just can’t find the words, and before he knows it he’s throwing himself down on the small couch in his apartment. </p><p> </p><p>“You know,” he finds himself saying, for no real reason, “When I attended school here my room was down in the basement. It was hardly a room really, more of a closet they shoved me in so I’d be more indebted to them.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt stares at him intently and Jaskier gestures for him to sit next to him, which he does. The couch shifts under his weight and Jaskier can’t help but give in to the urge to curl into his side. </p><p> </p><p>“I dated a guy for a while then, and he offered to pay for my tuition, offered to pay for everything. I moved in with him and his apartment made this” he gestures around, “Look like shit. It was all very posh.” he tsks, “It wasn’t anything I wasn’t used to, but it had been a while…”</p><p> </p><p>He glances over and Geralt nods at him to assure him he’s listening. </p><p> </p><p>And Jaskier wants to explain everything, but he can’t. Not really. </p><p> </p><p>Can’t probably isn’t the right word though, and he knows it. </p><p> </p><p>He won’t. </p><p> </p><p>Because he’s afraid.</p><p> </p><p>“He was… well at first he seemed great, but he was a dick. A jealous, petty, prick who couldn’t handle it when I started to succeed on my own.” he shakes his head, “I was stupid though, I wanted him to love me so badly… Well the details aren’t important,” he laughs lightly, but it comes out a bit choked up. </p><p> </p><p>“The main point is he knows things about me I’d rather no one else know, and he’s been ah- blackmailing me for years. He stopped for a long while actually, but today he decided to do it again. For old times sake, I suppose.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt tenses and Jaskier gives him a reassuring smile, “It’s nothing serious Geralt. He used to intentionally humiliate me when we were younger, but this time? I guess he was just trying to use me to further his failing career.” </p><p> </p><p>He leans back against the couch and stares at the ceiling. </p><p> </p><p>“He took the song I wrote for you.” </p><p> </p><p>And that’s the crux of it. That was his song that he wrote for Geralt, and now Valdo has it. Is claiming it as his work! It’s- he clenches his fists in frustration. </p><p> </p><p>“I know this probably sounds stupid, like why do I even care? It’s been years and I’m hardly a kid anymore. I’m just angry I’m still forced to deal with that fucking twat.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt shifts, “It’s not stupid. He…” the man trails off, “He sounds like an ass. I could threaten him if you want? He’d probably leave you alone then.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier shakes his head, “No. Just leave it be. He’ll probably fuck up when he tries to play my masterpiece anyways. He’s a shit musician.”</p><p> </p><p>Geralt chuckles. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for letting me, ah ramble on about all that. Not a very fun topic was it?” he sits up. </p><p> </p><p>“...You never tell me about your past. Glad to know it even exists.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier pauses. Has he never mentioned anything about his past to Geralt? Surely he’s…</p><p> </p><p>Well now that he thinks about it, he never talked about it. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s nothing interesting,” he shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“Neither are most of the things you talk about.”</p><p> </p><p>He gasps in mock offense, clutching his hands to his heart. </p><p> </p><p>“This is my tragic backstory! I am wounded Geralt. Hurt.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier smiles softly, his spirits already lifted. This man should not be able to cheer him up so easily, and yet, he feels energetic again, his previous anger and hurt forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>“We should probably get something to eat. I don’t keep food in here, it would spoil for obvious reasons, maybe we could-” he begins rambling with his usual cheer. </p><p> </p><p>Geralt gives him a soft smile, glad to see his bard back to his usual self.</p><p> </p><p>________</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier finds himself alone in the room of his apartment that night. Geralt is sleeping in the guest room, as Jaskier expected him to (but still sort of hoped he wouldn’t because he sleeps much better with Geralt).</p><p> </p><p>He’s much calmer after a fairly normal night with Geralt. He’s ready to get back on the road and would honestly skip the award ceremony the next night if it wouldn't look bad. He hopes Valdo cocked up his song, but it was probably good enough to get the man at least some sort of medal. </p><p> </p><p>Something Valdo hasn’t won in years. Not since they participated in student only competitions where his family’s name and sizable donations swayed the judges in his favor frequently. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t particularly care though. He has plenty of songs about Geralt and he’ll have plenty more. </p><p> </p><p>He’s the one who travels alongside the witcher after all. Valdo is simply a thief.</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier won’t stoop down to his level and let his bullshit upset him again. </p><p> </p><p>He sits in front of his mirror and brushes his hair. </p><p> </p><p>As he does he can’t help but stare at his face intently. </p><p> </p><p>There’s still one thing from his and Valdo’s conversation that’s bothering him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “We can’t all be freaks who stay young forever…”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Valdo had hissed it out as if the very idea was disgusting, but Jaskier had genuinely never considered how his status as a non-human of sorts would affect his aging. </p><p> </p><p>Now, as he inspects himself in the mirror, he realizes Valdo wasn’t wrong. </p><p> </p><p>He hasn’t aged a day since he was maybe 20. </p><p> </p><p>His skin is clear and wrinkle-free, his hair is thick and full, it hasn’t even thinned the slightest bit, and his face still holds a youthful quality to it. </p><p> </p><p>He’s only 27, so it’s not as if he’s old… he could just not be showing any physical signs, but when he thinks about it, he hasn’t even started to feel the effects aging has on a man's body either. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t get tired any easier than he did in his youth, his energy is still endless, he doesn’t get any aches or pains unless he does something truly stupid.</p><p> </p><p>He’s only 27, but he looks and feels 20. </p><p> </p><p>He bites his lip and runs a hand over his smooth skin. </p><p> </p><p>He wonders how long he’ll live. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know much about the lifespans of other creatures. He knows witchers live a long time, and he’s pretty sure he’s heard similar things about mages, but even those things he doesn’t know any exact details. </p><p> </p><p>He’s struck by the fact that if his suspicions are correct, he’ll have to stop traveling with Geralt one day, and begin avoiding the man. Years will pass and he’ll still look the same as he did when they first met, when if he were human he would have graying hair and wrinkles. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should look at the positives though, aging was never something he looked forward to after all. Getting too feeble to travel, losing his looks, having to… he shudders at the very thought, settle down and watch as all the things that once made him passionate about life fade away. </p><p> </p><p>Plus, old people are gross. Ass hair? No thank you. </p><p> </p><p>So not aging is good… but all the same it’s bad. </p><p> </p><p>‘Maybe if you just told Geralt,’ his mind supplies, and he buries his head in his hands. </p><p> </p><p>How can he tell him? What would he even say at this point?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Hey Geralt, I have no idea what I am. My mother called me a monster, but that was probably her overwhelming hatred of me since I most likely was the result of some sort of affair. It fucked up my entire life and I very well could be one of the things you’ve been trained to kill. Also, I can do extremely powerful magic that according to human texts, just isn’t possible, but I find it quite easy. Sorry for all the lying, I was afraid you’d run me through, but now even if you did I wouldn’t care. In fact, I’d probably thank you because I’m too in love with you to get truly mad over anything.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Maybe not. </p><p> </p><p>He sighs and stands up from the vanity mirror he’d been sitting at, all but throwing himself onto the bed. </p><p> </p><p>He could be wrong. He could be agonizing over nothing. For all he knows he could wake up with gray hair the next day. </p><p> </p><p>He somehow doubts that though. </p><p> </p><p>It just feels right, as if he’s known all along that he isn’t aging properly, but he’s locked the idea away where he wouldn’t have to deal with it. </p><p> </p><p>So of course it would be Valdo shit for brains Marx that would force him to confront the matter. </p><p> </p><p>It’s probably for the best though. He’ll need to start coming up with excuses for his lack of wrinkles soon. A rigorous skincare routine that he’ll need to adopt, despite not needing it. </p><p> </p><p>If he’s aware of what he’s lying about, he can do it a lot better. </p><p> </p><p>He’s a rather good liar, and that’s a bit of a terrifying thought, but it’s the truth. </p><p> </p><p>It’s just one more thing to hide in a pile of many though, and it’s far from the worst. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you enjoyed, consider reading a review :) Even if I don't respond, I do read them all and they make my day so :p</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier gets a surprise visitor on his travels, leading to some discoveries about his nature.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Omfg this took me wayy too long to get up, but trust me it felt longer to me. My life is a bit of a mess at the moment! I have a pro tip for you all- don't buy old houses! The plumbing can and will just, poof, break, and insurance doesn't cover under the house leaks which is superrr cute. But yeah these last few weeks have not been fun! And there's more to come, so I'll try to update again soon but no promises. </p><p>Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I was excited to write it but idk if I quite did it justice. </p><p>As always, thank my beta reader @imaginary.indigo for the fact that this fic is actually readable!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier all but throws himself into the chair, slamming his ale down onto Geralt’s table, which is, of course, secluded off in the farthest corner of the tavern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How was my performance?” he asks cheerfully, his voice slightly slurred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums non-committedly and Jaskier elbows him lightly with a laugh, the buzz of too much ale flowing through him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh please! Don’t overwhelm me with compliments! I only earned our dinner”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt levies him with a look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs and waves the barmaid over, “The meals we were promised- one for me and my dear friend here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl nods and hurries off to the kitchens. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier turns back to Geralt, ready to start rambling about a ridiculous rumor that’s been making its waves around the continent, but he’s cut off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That man has been watching you all night.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks. His first instinct is to smirk and send a wink towards whatever man has intended to shack up with him for the night, but Geralt sounds very serious, so he looks over his shoulder in the direction the witcher is glaring in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, an older man in full armor is staring right at him from a table across the inn, positioned just so Jaskier would barely notice him from the stage where he’d been performing all evening. He looks… intense, to put it lightly. His expression isn’t even the slightest bit flirty. Jaskier sucks in a breath and turns back to Geralt quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t suppose you think he’s been eyeing me in hopes of a fun time, do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt shakes his head, “That’s what I thought at first, but there’s something off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, scooting his chair so he’s a bit closer to Geralt, “I trust your judgment on these things, of course.” he furrows his brows, “I’m just not sure what he wants with me. I don’t know that man, and I don’t think I’ve slept with anyone’s wives in some time…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He trails off and glances at the man again. He’s still looking straight at him, although now that Jaskier is looking closer, there’s something familiar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He squints, and stares at the man unabashedly- it’s not rude to stare if the person you’re staring at has been watching you all night like a creepy stalker, right? He’s pretty sure the rudeness cancels out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t remember ever meeting the guy, and his face is so dreadfully unremarkable that even if he had, he probably wouldn’t remember him enough to place. There’s just something there that he knows though. His eyes trail down to the man’s clothing, noting the large crest displayed over his armor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” he hisses under his breath, recoiling slightly as he finally places what’s familiar. All of the warmth bubbling in him from his performance and ale drops out from under him and he feels cold. Geralt turns to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you do?” he asks quietly, and Jaskier shakes his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For once I didn’t do anything- well other than be born I suppose, but I can hardly be held responsible for the circumstances surrounding that,” as if he hasn’t been held accountable for the circumstances of his birth by nearly everyone he’s ever been close to... </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a long story.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s lips twist into an annoyed scowl and Jaskier draws in a shaky breath, “Look, I never thought I’d need to explain this- I left that life behind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns back to the man, scowling at the Lettenhove family crest on his armor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A member of his father’s little personal guard has tracked him down, and he has no idea why, but he’d rather not have any part of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembers when those silly costumes were made for the entire guard- they were far too expensive for a small land like Lettenhove, but his father had been insistent that it would pay off in the respect they earned from the neighboring nobles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They need to look like proper knights!” his father decreed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doubts the locals felt that way about the entire ordeal, considering most of the people in Lettenhove lived in relative poverty, but that’s not his problem anymore. He did what he could for those people, and now he wants no part of that life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a long sip of his ale. Being even remotely sober for anything resembling a family reunion is just not going to work for him- if the man is here to attack him, he trusts that Geralt will take care of it easily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it will be a bit of an issue if these men are going to be crawling out of the woodwork to come after him frequently. He wonders what his father could even want with him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Last he’d heard, his cousin was preparing to take over his father’s position in Lettenhove, and that had been years ago. He only even knows that much because he’d overheard some women in court whispering about his </span>
  <em>
    <span>tragic disappearance</span>
  </em>
  <span> once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d been annoyed to learn that his parents had somehow spun him fleeing their estate in fear into a sob story that left them the victims, but he hadn’t been surprised. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But sending someone after him? That is surprising. He knows they want nothing to do with him, and he’s offered them no trouble. He doesn’t even know how they discovered who he is now, considering he doesn’t use the same name. He does look pretty similar to how he had at 16 though all things considered, due to his lack of any visible aging.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt tenses at his side and he shakes himself out of his thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man is walking towards them, and Jaskier clenches his fist under the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir Julian! You are a hard man to track.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His face twists up, “It’s just Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man pauses, but doesn’t address Jaskier’s request, “Sir,  I’ve sought you out on urgent business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier frowns, “I’m afraid I’m not interested in any urgent business from Lettenhove. Or anything at all to do with Lettenhove. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But sir! Your mother insisted that I bring you home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns burning eyes onto the man, “Well, seeing as I haven’t had anything to do with my mother since I was a child, and I would never go anywhere near that place willingly, I don’t care what she insists on.” he scoffs, “You go tell her that. That I don’t care.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man scowls and goes to speak, but Geralt growls lowly at Jaskier’s side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“M-Master witcher, this is a family matter, one that I’m sure you wouldn’t understand, so if I could just explain the situation to-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you Jaskier’s family?” Geralt asks, a sharp undertone in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man pauses. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, no, but I am under the employ of his mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you aren’t Jaskier’s family, this isn’t a family matter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier grins at the twisted-up look of frustration forming on the guard’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man sighs, “Sir, please just allow me to explain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier scoffs, and stands, “Geralt, let’s just go to our room. I’ll have them bring our food up to us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt stands as well, and the man has a desperate and pinched expression on his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s dying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier freezes. Everything seems to freeze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your mother is dying Sir Julian, and she’s begged to see you one last time. She wants to talk to you about all that…” the man twiddles his thumbs, and awkwardly stumbles over his words “err, happened in your family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He pauses, anger thrumming just under his skin, “What the hell,” he growls, ignoring the surprised look Geralt gives him at his tone, “do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> know about what happened between me and my family.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- nothing sir. I just know she wishes to apologize for what was done to you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries to take a calming breath, but it comes out as more of a hiss than anything, “All my mother wants, is for me to come and absolve her from all her sins” he scoffs “after everything she’s done.” he shakes his head, “Tell her I said to fuck off.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s still staring at him, and he understands the surprise. He’s not known for holding many grudges, and the amount of anger he’s just expressed is out of character for him. Sure he argues, gets angry, and fights with people, especially people who insult witchers, but his anger towards his mother runs deep. It’s a painful stream of murky feelings far more personal than any anger towards a stray insult, however cruel, could ever be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembers the way she tormented him with gory stories where he was the villain each night. He remembers the night terrors he suffered from throughout his entire childhood as a result. He remembers how she ignored him on the best of days, and vehemently, openly, hated him on others. How she claimed, on multiple occasions, that if she could, she would kill him herself, because that’s what you’re meant to do with monsters. Kill them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d never even done anything to hurt anyone and she treated him like a monster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was a child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could never forgive the way she turned on him, simply because of his nature. She was his mother, and regardless of what he is, she should have loved him, and she didn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir Julian-” the man exclaims, but he turns and storms off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir-” the man hurries after him, and Geralt knocks past him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She also said-” he cried, “that she had something important to tell you! Something you’ve always wanted to know!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What would that be?” he hisses, turning back and staring the man down from across the tavern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, the uh…” the man scurries up to him with a glance towards Geralt, and whispers in his ear, “the identity of your father sir.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes and heaves a long sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” he mumbles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He has to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He has to know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s something that’s always tugged at him. He doesn’t want to meet his father and foster any sort of relationship. That sort of thing hasn’t mattered to him in many years, but he has to know what he is, and this might very well be his last chance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows what this is. A simple exchange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He goes and gives his mother the peace of forgiveness as she drifts into eternal sleep, and he gets to finally know just what it was that made him so detestable to her in the first place. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” he clenches his fists and turns to Geralt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stares at him for a moment, his strong presence calming him a bit. He gives a small smile, looking into the golden pools that are Geralt’s eyes and resisting the urge to fall into his arms and cry over the unfairness of it all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I’ll see you around then? I know you’re heading west of here, and Lettenhove is north.” in the direction they’d just come from, meaning no contracts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt stares at him, perceptive Witcher eyes lingering on his shaking hands and strained grimace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come.” he eyes the guard, “For protection.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sags in relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That somehow both mitigates all his stress and multiplies it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, he’s going to come home with a witcher at his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If that isn’t the biggest fuck you to his ailing mother he could come up with… And he always feels safer when Geralt is around. He knows the witcher will protect him, and while he doesn’t need it necessarily, it’s good to know he can always rely on the man. Plus, everything is just more fun with his company.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But still, he’s going there to learn his true nature, and if it turns out he really is some irredeemable thing, he doesn’t want Geralt to be there when he finds out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he’s already wanted to tell Geralt for years anyways. If he finds out, he finds out. Maybe he’ll even manage to muster up the courage to explain everything on the journey there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t, of course. He knew he wouldn’t deep down. He’s too much of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>coward </span>
  </em>
  <span>for that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They travel back through towns they’d just passed, and are welcomed with varying degrees of happiness. They completely avoid a few areas where they know things will be outright hostile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They move quickly, even when they finally arrive in new villages with contracts Geralt could take. They don’t know how long Jaskier’s mother has, and the guard wasn’t particularly forthcoming when it came to information, fleeing the moment Jaskier agreed to go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt doesn’t press on why Jaskier wants to go, even when he’d been so against it at first. He doesn’t even press on why he hates his own mother. Of course he doesn’t, he’s kind, thoughtful, considerate, and would never really push Jaskier out of his comfort zone. (it isn’t because he doesn’t care- it can’t be because he doesn’t care.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wishes Geralt would press him though because he thinks if he asked, he could tell him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t ask. Not once during their travels, and he can never find the right moment to broach the subject, so once again, he doesn’t tell Geralt about the power bubbling beneath his skin, or the way he was ostracized for it, or the way his mother hated him so much she could barely bear to look upon him, or the fear of witchers that was ingrained in him, to the point where he had debilitating night terrors over it for years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which is just the cherry on top. Geralt is a good man. The kindest, most honorable man he’s ever known. No matter what he is, he wouldn’t have struck him down when he was an innocent child. He would never strike down any innocent. He could be half-drowner and Geralt would never hurt him. Not unless he hurt an innocent, proved himself to be a true monster inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother just used witchers, a distant story of monster hunters she knew nothing about, to keep him in line. To keep him afraid. And it worked. He still gets bouts of paranoia and anxiety to this day, despite knowing and loving a witcher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t complain. Not really. What his family did to him is nothing compared to what Geralt went through in his youth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t talk about it, so Jaskier only knows the bare bones of the matter, but he does know that the process of becoming a witcher is painful, and that Geralt was very young when he underwent it, and that many of the equally young boys Geralt knew didn’t survive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows enough to know that Geralt had it much worse than he ever has, and he feels bad for getting so worked up over his childhood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he can’t help but hurt over it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His own mother, who he remembers distantly as having been kind once, hated him. Scorned him. Taught him to fear and hate himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s caught up in how torn up he feels for a lot of the trip. Memories he hasn’t thought about in years swimming to the forefront of his mind as if they happened only yesterday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s so caught up in his swirling thoughts, that he doesn’t even realize how close to Lettenhove they are until they’re there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” he mumbles distantly, turning to Geralt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just a warning,” he tries to keep his voice as upbeat as possible despite the stone-cold dread coiling around his heart, “my family isn’t particularly fond of witchers,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums, but he sees the slight wince.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tsks, “They never had any taste- Geralt did you know my mother once wore a dress with a collar so high it looked as if it belonged to a queen from four decades ago. To a small dinner party of all things too! It looked as if she was choking all evening, and she stood out like a jester- all the other nobles were dressed sensibly of course, and there she is. Even more, it was mainly a maroon color, with a secondary color of pink! Pink and red- it horrified me then and it still does. Everyone knows red and pink should never be paired, and matched with that ridiculous collar...” he shakes her head, “It’s a good thing I left really, for that appalling incident alone. I was always much more fashionable than them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gestures to his blue doublet and its intricate trim as if to prove his point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums, clearly not listening. That’s okay. He’s not even listening to himself. He just rambles when he’s nervous (and when he isn’t. He rambles most of the time really, but it’s worse when he’s nervous), and currently, his heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he’s almost afraid it’ll go flying out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That isn’t possible, is it? He doesn’t know much about medicine. Maybe he should ask about that the next time he sees a healer, though he’d prefer to wait a while because usually seeing a healer means one, or both of them have managed to fuck themselves up severely enough to need to use precious coin seeking outside help.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Calm down Jaskier,” Geralt climbs down from Roach gracefully and puts a hand on his shoulder, and the proximity to the love of his life, the hottest man on the continent isn’t helping him calm down, but it is helping him take his mind off the looming shape of Lettenhove in front of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stares into Geralt’s eyes and reminds himself that he isn’t the same child who fled here years ago. He’s not a scared boy who’s trying too hard to remain cheerful and upbeat despite all the horrors life has thrown his way. They can’t break him anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s happy now. He has friends and a career in Oxenfurt and is well renowned across the continent as a bard. He’s earned his success. Plus, Geralt, his traveling companion and best friend, is a witcher, and the boy who’d run from Lettenhove 13 years ago would have probably fainted just at the sight of golden eyes and large swords. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, calming down,” he takes in a deep breath, “It’s just strange to be here. I left when I was 16 you know? Best thing I ever did, even if it was hard at first.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t exactly his choice, but he probably would’ve left anyways.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glances around, “It looks almost the same, but I feel different. I am different.” he shakes his head and begins to lead Geralt through the town. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s smaller than I remember though,” he laughs, “I always thought my father was so powerful growing up, but now I’ve seen truly powerful men and truly large cities, so I can tell he was just a minor noble with an overinflated ego.” he snorts in an undignified way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lettenhove is a trivial land to hold. He can see that now. Barely worth a mention on a map. It’s a town, yes, and there are clusters of homes spread around with a large estate looming ahead where he’d grown up, but it’s made up of mostly farmers with only a few skilled workers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt looks around as well, seemingly taking in the area. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier remembers sneaking down here from time to time in his youth. He wasn’t allowed to play with commoners, and he wasn’t meant to go into town, but there were no other children and he’d thought the rules were dumb anyway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d learned to play dice and cards in these streets and jumped in mud puddles in those grasslands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those trips had stopped as he’d gotten older of course, but they’re fond memories, despite how unfortunate most of his time in Lettenhove had been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here we are,” he sighs, gesturing to the estate they’ve finally reached. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“May we help you?” a guard asks and Jaskier’s smile drops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We’re here to speak to the lady of the house. We were sent for.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man stares at them for a moment, before recognition seems to flit into his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sir Julian?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Jaskier now, but yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man lowers his head, “Of course, I will lead you to your rooms.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so we’ll be allowed to stay after all? I’d wondered if she’d kick me out the moment we’d spoken.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses, and winces at his tone, “Sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you, you’ve done nothing wrong, this is just your job.” he assures the man, “I’m just a bit high strung.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course sir, I understand.” the guard leads them along, clearly a bit uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they walk through the halls the guard explains, “Your mother wishes to see you as soon as possible. It would be best for you to hurry there once you’re settled in,” he clenches his jaw and lowers his voice a bit “she isn’t always lucid. She’s very ill, and it’s been a slow process.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaskier chews on his lips, trying to ignore the slight pang his heart gives at that, despite everything “What’s wrong with her anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard shrugs awkwardly, “That’s a question for the healers. All that medical terminology was uhh,” he frowns, “in one ear and out the other. Couldn’t make much sense of it all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, and they continue along silently for a while, before stopping in front of one of the many doors lining this particular hallway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their room is just a few doors down from his childhood bedroom, and he glances down towards it, wondering what it looks like now. He wonders if all his childhood treasures and toys are still stashed in all his hiding places, or if everything has been stripped so that the space is unrecognizable.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he pauses, looking at the room they’ve been given.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only one room? There’s two of us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Apologies sir, I could speak with your cousin about giving you another, but under this short notice, none are prepared. We only knew you were coming, not your…” he guard’s face tightens when he looks at Geralt, and Jaskier scowls, his guilt at snapping at the man earlier fading away, “friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Geralt huffs, pushing the door open, “It isn’t as if we haven’t shared before.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods and goes to ask another question about his mother before he stops, the guard’s words slowly processing in his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“My cousin? Why would you ask him and not my father?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guard’s eyes widen, “I’m so sorry sir,” he bows, “that was tactless- I thought you knew.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s brows furrow, “Knew what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man glances up at him, then looks away again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That your father died two winters ago?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blinks, “Oh.” his throat feels thick, and he doesn’t know why, “Right, well. Thank you for telling me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man seems terrified and Jaskier shakes his head, “It’s alright, I’m just going to,” he gestures into the room and pushes his way inside, setting his lute and bag down carefully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hears the guard hurry off, and Geralt closes the door with a soft click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier nods wordlessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” he states numbly, ignoring the dubious look Geralt is giving him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He isn’t sad. It doesn’t hurt in the way it would if a friend had died. It’s a bitter thing, a tang of discomfort and regret that worms its way into his gut whether he wants it or not.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His relationship with his ‘father’ was beyond repair. He isn’t sad that the man is gone exactly… it just feels wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hated him, and he hated me even more. He wasn’t even my real father,” he swallows, “I’m not upset, just,” he shrugs, “It’s just strange.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt looks at him awkwardly, and reaches out, as if to touch him, hold him, comfort him, but hesitates, and then puts his hand back at his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stares at the man’s hand and swallows, wishing Geralt would have reached out to him, but unable to think of an appropriate way to ask him to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t care,” he assures again, “it’s just a bit of a shock,” he plasters a small smile on his face, “I always saw the man as a bit above it all. It’s not a terrible loss or anything, he was an ass.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods, seeming to struggle to think of something to say for a moment before eventually settling on “I don’t know what your relationship was, but I am sorry”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles weakly, “I’m alright, don’t worry. We weren’t close at all. I always thought I’d be glad when he died. Didn’t expect to feel…” he shrugs, “well anything else, but I suppose it’s a bit sad in a way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugs, “Anyways, enough about my dead dad, now onto my dying mom,” he smiles and looks over at Geralt again, “Don’t worry about that either. I hated my father, but I barely knew him, and I always knew he wasn’t really my family. My mother though…” he gives a humorless laugh, “She was cruel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scrubs his hands over his face, “Fuck, sorry, I keep rambling about all this as if you want to hear it,” he doesn’t give Geralt a chance to respond, “I think I should go ahead and see my mother. We can get settled in later, and maybe have a bath. Actually, we should definitely have a bath. We must both stink!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods, looking unsure. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Will you come with me? I might need you to step out for, well the more private things that need to be said, but I…” he trails off, “I would feel much better knowing you were there with me is all. You can say no! I won’t be offended or anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods, giving him a look that he doesn’t have the energy to even begin trying to interpret “Of course I’ll go with you Jask.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He smiles tiredly, “Thank you,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>____________</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stands in front of her door for a long moment, thinking of a memories long past of running here to seek comfort from the woman behind them. She’s in the same room she’s always been in. This isn’t shocking really, but it feels like more should have changed since he left. Everything looks the same as it had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This room was once a place that served as his solace from all the frustrating expectations he was held to, and then it served as a place where he was brought to be punished for his failures in academics and politics. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now he has been gone for years, his father is dead, his mother is dying, and he is older, yet this room is the same. This hallway is the same. This house and this town are all the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He suddenly feels very small again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushes the door open with a shaky hand, nervousness bubbling up. He feels jittery, as if his anxiousness has manifested itself all through his body, giving him too much energy to know what to do with. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d had less adrenaline while being chased by genuine monsters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her room is the same as always. Pale yellow wallpaper and large windows that let sunlight pour in. It smells of sickness inside where it once smelled of wildflowers. The bed is plush as it always has been, situated in the middle of the large room, and in it is his mother, propped up against a sea of pillows and pale, with deep wrinkles and thinning hair flowing out around her, he sucks in labored breaths. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Julian-” she gasps, “You came!” she sounds shocked, but relieved, and he scowls. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t come for you, and you know it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He steps further inside, allowing Geralt to enter the room along with him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Be a dear and close the door behind us, would you?” he asks the witcher, striding over to his mother’s bedside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A witcher?” she breathes hoarsely, her eyes nearly as wide as they had been the day he pulled a flower from the earth to give to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My traveling companion?” he raises a brow at her, “Surely you’ve heard at least some of my songs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her brows furrow, “Songs?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scoffs, “Yes, I’m a famous bard now. Go by Jaskier too, so don’t call me anything else. I won’t respond.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nods hesitantly, her eyes trained on Geralt, suspicion clear on her face. Jaskier can tell the attention is making him uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why did you bring me here?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallows, “I want to apologize Jaskier- no wait please- at least let me explain-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where was that courtesy for me! I was never allowed to explain, or given a second chance. I apologized and I hadn’t even done anything wrong, so tell me why I should give you a chance to explain yourself here today. Tell me why I should even care.” The words poured from his lips as if a dam has been burst. A dam holding back all of the repressed anger and sadness of his childhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I don’t deserve it, but Jaskier I beg you. Let me explain.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabs a chair and throws himself in it, crossing his legs impatiently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will let you explain, for two reasons. The first, is that I am a more understanding person than you have ever even tried to be, and the second is that I want to know why. I want to know the reason why you hated me so much when I had done nothing to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt clears his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks, “Oh, sorry Geralt, I nearly forgot you were there,” he nods, “Mother,” he spits the word out, “Aren’t you going to say hello? You once valued politeness over all else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She swallows, “Yes, right,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier leans back in his chair. She could at least try to look less horrified by his choice in company. She made his opinion on him very clear after all, why wouldn’t she expect a ‘monster’ to travel with other ‘monsters.’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt.” the Witcher states, trying to guide the woman along. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She leans even further back into her pillow fortress, “I’m Julia-Jaskier’s mother. As I’m sure you already know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a long moment of silence, before his mother finally turns back to him, “Julian I know you-” she pauses at his heated glare “Jaskier I mean, sorry, I’m sorry. We should never have made you leave, I know you meant well. You always did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffs, “Yes, well at least you admit it. I did nothing wrong.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I wouldn’t-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I did nothing wrong. I was simply myself and you couldn’t tolerate it!” his eyes dart over to Geralt and he reminds himself to watch his wording “You and father- or should I even call him that? Regardless, you both hated me for things beyond my control and now you still want to claim I somehow was at fault.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, that isn’t what I’m saying-” she breaks off to cough heavily, and Jaskier chews on his lip with barely restrained frustration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her voice is much more subdued when she starts again, “Jaskier, I’m not saying you were at fault, but surely you recognize the precarious position you put me and your father in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs, “You’re nobles of a pathetically small land, what was going to happen? War was hardly going to break out because I wasn’t the perfect little child you always wanted.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother falls silent for a long moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier puts his head in his hands and sighs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, remember when I said I’d need you to leave for the more private part of this conversation? I thought there would be a bit more small talk before we reached that point, but it seems that my mother wishes to get right to business.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The witcher hums “I’ll meet you in our room?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course. Can you find your way there on your own?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gives a small smile as Geralt leaves, but lets it fall the moment the door closes. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He stares at his mother, dead in the eyes, and waves his hand, soundproofing the room easily, as he’d done each night in his youth, in this very house, so that he would be able to practice his instrument freely. His mother flinches at the easy use of magic and he rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Witcher trusts you alone?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier scoffs, “Why wouldn’t he? I’ve never done anything to harm anyone, regardless of whatever freakish parentage you gifted me oh so kindly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stiffens, “Julian I didn’t know that your father wasn’t human when we-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groans, “But he wasn’t, and that was on you! Not me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She slumps back, a strained cough falling from her lips, “You’re right Ju-Jaskier. I’m so sorry, I was just so desperate and dumb,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s horrified to note that her eyes are welling with tears, and even more horrified that it tugs on his heart strings despite how much he knows that she doesn’t deserve his forgiveness or empathy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It tugs on the part of him that wants the mother he remembers. The part of him that still wants the person who he would bend the will of the earth for. Summoning a flower is a small bit of magic for those with proper training and with something exchanged, but for his mother, he had simply willed a plant into existence. Back then, he would have done anything just to put a smile on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I just don’t understand.” he finally says after a long moment “I loved you and you betrayed that love.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks to the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Jaskier, I was young when I was married off to your father,” her voice is hoarse, “I was the youngest girl in a family of many strong men, and I was married off by my father, who wanted to acquire Lettenhoves land for himself. His power ploy failed, but my fate was sealed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums, leaning back and watching her, unsure of where this is going. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your father- well, my husband- was a cold man. You know how he was. He shared the bed with me on our wedding night, and then on rare occasions when he wished to try for heirs. We were not lucky. I doubt he is capable of providing one at all in all honesty. I’ve heard of such a thing happening.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, “But I was young, and I wanted love, and warmth, and fun. So I went to the tavern in town, and I had fun. I didn’t do it often, but I did it often enough. Your real father was a traveler who was staying in town for some time, and he looked so human.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns pleading eyes on him, “I didn’t mean for it to happen- I wouldn’t have if I’d known. His hair was long and he hid his accent well, but we… well we spent a few weeks together. I would sneak out each night to come see him in his rooms and we would… we didn’t just fuck, we talked, and I thought…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She trails off and laughs bitterly, “I thought I was in love.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stares at her intently, confusion beginning to build in his gut. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I became pregnant, me and my husband had not been together in that way in months. I knew it had to be him, so I rushed to tell him.” her gaze becomes distant as she speaks “At the time I thought it was good- great news even. I thought we could run away together and be a happy family and we could leave this life behind…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier cannot help himself, “Then why? What could he have possibly been that would make you hate me! If you loved him then he couldn’t have possibly been so bad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shakes her head, “Please, let me finish.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grits his teeth and nods. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I told him I was pregnant, and that it was his, he didn’t react how I thought he would. He sat me down and said he had been hiding something from me. He said he would explain everything if I gave him a chance, and then…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shudders, “He revealed his true form. I would never sleep with an elf- I would never sink so low. They’re disgusting, filthy creatures, so Ju-Jaskier you understand why when I found out what he was, I sent him away. I ran home and tried to put the incident behind me. And when you were born, you looked so normal. I convinced myself that somehow you weren’t his.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She closes her eyes “So don’t you see why when you showed you were clearly his, I was devastated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gives him a watery smile “You understand don’t you? Why I couldn’t keep on loving you the way that I had when I thought you were human. Not with you being part...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s as if his entire world has crumbled to his feet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His jaw drops, his breath catches, and he can’t think anything other that:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s half elf. Half fucking elf. He thought he was- something terrible- something monstrous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he’s half elf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d entertained the idea that his mother fucked a drowner, a siren, a vampire, or a demon(even if Geralt says they aren’t real) or even something not remotely humanoid like a kikimora. He’d thought through every possibility- every possible monster in the books and never once had “half-elf” passed his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because it’s too mild. Too unimportant. Elves aren’t even monsters! Not in any sense of the word. Witchers certainly don’t hunt down elves the way they do ghouls after all. His prized lute is a gift from an elf for fucks sake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He can’t breathe. He can’t think. Anger burns inside him and he can’t fucking take it.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you fucking serious!” he roars, pushing himself to his feet with such force that the chair he’s been in clatters to the ground, “You- you scorned me- you- you,” he doesn’t even have words. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Half elf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Half elf.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought I was a monster,” he means to sound angry but it comes out choked up and hurting, “I hated myself, and for what? Because- because you’re a fucking racist?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tugs on his hair and pushes a scream of anger back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sputters, “What- No elves are-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up. I’ve met elves. More than you have certainly! I have friends that are elves!” his voice raises an octave, “I’ve slept with plenty over the years!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He runs his hands through his hair and continues, “It’s not even illegal for elves to live in most of the continent- this area of the world is just particularly intolerant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><em><span>Half</span></em> <em><span>elf</span></em><span>. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thought he was a monster and he’s just half goddamn elf. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly he’s hit with a wave of relief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a rollercoaster of emotions in him, but suddenly, drowning out all the anger, hurt, and pain, is relief so strong he might be sick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He isn’t a monster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not some creature that deserves a painful death. He’s never going to suddenly develop a craving for the taste of a child’s flesh. He’s not going to start killing with no remorse for no other reason than some monstrous thing hidden in his DNA. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What’s the difference between him and any other human? His chaos is richer than any fully human mage’s could be, and his life span is long. He can’t think of any other differences between himself and his mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mother is blubbering about how she’s somehow not in the wrong here and he brushes her off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t accept your apology, if you can even call it that,” he states simply, “I don’t forgive you. I never will.” he shakes his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wish we could have been close. There was no reason we shouldn’t have been, other than your inability to see past prejudices that don’t even have anything backing them.” he sighs, “But we weren’t close, and the only thing I can say is thank you for telling me what I am, because now the fears you gave me are washed away. Now I know you were just a sad, deluded woman, who took all the pains of her life out on her child.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Julian please,” she begs hoarsely, and he swallows around a lump in his throat, turning away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “My witcher and I will stay the night if we’re permitted, and we’ll leave in the morning,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Julian please,” she repeats, “I was wrong, I was, but I was afraid- of you, and of my husband, and what people would say if they knew you weren’t his. If they knew you weren’t human. I needed you to keep quiet and you were such a talkative boy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, “All you’re doing is cementing your selfishness and inability to think creatively. You could not think of a single way to explain away an affinity for chaos?” his voice cracks “You couldn’t think of any better option than emotionally abusing a child!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She starts to say something else, but he just brushes her off and walks out of the room, hovering at the door for a moment, and turning back to look upon his mother one last time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is frail, sobbing, and desperate, trying to rationalize her sins to herself and failing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door closes behind him with a click and he stands there for a long moment, the silence of the hallway seeming louder than any tavern or party he’s ever attending. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks at his shaking hands and begins to wander the halls of the estate aimlessly, letting his hand drag along the walls as he looks around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This place is full of too many memories. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He makes his way back to their rooms slowly, a numbness settling in place of the boiling hot rage that had pounded inside him mere moments before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What a fucking day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt looks up from sharpening his swords, and Jaskier gives him a halfhearted smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll leave tomorrow,” he states, his voice shakier than it has any right to be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s just too much. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He burns with a need to tell Geralt, but all he has the energy to do is throw himself onto the bed and lie there numbly, not sleeping, or composing, or speaking, or even thinking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Half elf. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Half elf. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Half elf. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words bump around in his head, slotting themselves into memories that he’s once regarded as a bit strange. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way he’d understood the elder the elves in Posada had spoken easily, and the way he’d been able to become fully fluent in the language after studying it over a few winters in Oxenfurt. The fact that he’d recognized so much of the language from songs he’d used as spells over the years. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But some things still seem so… blurry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Surely all elves cannot revive creatures from the dead, something Jaskier has been doing since he was a child. Something that is supposedly impossible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know enough about elves to say for sure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he does know, is that he suddenly is not a monster. He’s not afraid of himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a good feeling, not being afraid of oneself. He’d been terrified that he would suddenly transform into something evil and uncontrollable one day since he was a child. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He feels lighter. Freer. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And yet he is too numb to even try to explain to Geralt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should explain. Geralt could surely help him understand his heritage better. It’s not as if the witcher will react too poorly. They know plenty of elves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God the thought still doesn’t even feel right. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Him being half elf is too anticlimactic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s too mundane. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s too ordinary. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure how long he just lays there before Geralt comes and sits next to him on the bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you… want to talk about it?” he asks, his words </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier rolls over to look at the Witcher.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know. He does want to, but he also can’t. It’s like the words are trapped in him and the idea of saying them out loud is impossible. Plus, what if Geralt judges him. How could he have not known he was half elf for the first 30 years of his life? And he doesn’t want to have to explain that he was afraid of Geralt. That just isn’t fair to the man. He hasn’t done anything to deserve that. And! What if Geralt decides he can’t trust him anymore. He had been lying to him for years after all, and Geralt seems to have mixed opinions on magic users. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he shakes his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m alright. I don’t know what I expected coming here, to be honest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your mother was…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier laughs, “She’s an ass right? Acting like it was my fault that </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>kicked me out at 16? Have I ever told you about that? I don’t think I have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You hadn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s hardly a fun conversation topic,” he shrugs, “Anyways, I’m fine, it’s fine.” he sits up to face Geralt at a less awkward angle, “Where are we off to next? I know I took us so off route for this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt shrugs, his golden eyes shining with concern “Didn’t really have a route…” the witcher gives him a long look, “Where do you want to go next?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In all the years they’ve traveled together, Geralt has never once asked him to pick their destination. Sure, the man has followed him when he has business he has to take care of (he says it’s “just to keep you out of trouble Jask,” but he’s pretty sure it’s their epic friendship that keeps Geralt by his side when he runs off to be in bardic competitions, or to visit his childhood home for the most depressing family visit in the history of family visits) but Jaskier has never actually picked their location just for the hell of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” he hums, scratching his chin in thought, “I’ve always wanted to see Cintra. That’s near here isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles weakly, “I’d like to head there then.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The witcher gives him a soft look, or at least what qualifies as a soft look on the face of a witcher, “Cintra it is then.” </span>
</p>
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